The Other Place
by screenwriter2014
Summary: Laura Hobson receives an offer she can't refuse...and it isn't from Robbie Lewis.
1. Chapter 1

[A/N] This is set about a year after Falling Darkness (the one where Laura nearly gets buried alive) and presumes no prior relationship. Even though I've written another fic which unpicks The Ramblin' Boy, I still feel that the episode just conveniently slid Hobson and Lewis together and that that was lazy and not especially realistic. This is entirely AU for Series 7 and 8, but the characters are entirely in canon. Hope you like it - buckle up, this won't all be hearts and roses!

* * *

The envelope was satisfyingly thick, its contents clearly more than a single page. She propped it against the radio while she made a pot of coffee. It was an unnecessary preliminary, nothing more than a delaying tactic, but the routine settled her. It was a Saturday in July, and Laura Hobson was off duty until Monday morning. A full weekend was rare these days, what with staffing cuts and services being stretched more than ever, and she planned to make the most of her time away from the office.

She poured the water into the cafetiere, spreading it evenly across the fine powder, and carefully fixed the lid with its heavy plunger. She already knew what the envelope meant. The college crest had been emblazoned across the right hand corner by the franking machine, and however expensive the paper, no rejection letter was ever this thick. Cambridge. She moved the pot to the kitchen table, splashed some milk in a mug, and picked up the letter, tapping it against her lips as she sat down.

An hour later she was still sat there, reading and re-reading the fine print of the contract. It was good. Better than the conversations during the interview process had suggested. They wouldn't require her to lecture, it would almost exclusively be a research fellowship, with the possibility of some post-doctoral supervision, entirely at her discretion. The departmental letter, folded neatly behind the college contract, was even more straightforward. Lab facilities and a small group of PhD students already working on the trial that would potentially confirm her hypotheses, and, most important of all, there was the opportunity to establish some new surgical protocols based on her findings. The group had even secured a seed funding grant and were confident they could take on two new PhDs by October.

She sighed loudly and sat back heavily in the chair. It was everything she wanted. What had started as a joke with Ellen about 'moving to the dark side', and a punt on a research application, had ended with a proposal beyond her expectations. She would take it, there was no question of that. It was absolutely the right thing to do. Even though the application had been purely speculative, the impulse to complete it had been a long time coming. She was fifty two, single, at the top of her game professionally, but floundering in her personal life. She was a woman who thrived off an intellectual challenge, the complexity of a problem…but recently even she had to admit that her attachment to a certain DI had become less of an interesting distraction and more of a sad and ultimately futile obsession of hers. For several years she had waited, respectful of his grief, his need for space, her hopes lifted by the occasional smile, the casual touch of a had been fooling herself, that much was now crystal clear. She smiled wryly, not for the first time regretting how much time she had wasted on wanting something that wasn't real.

Occasionally, she'd shared her thoughts with Ellen, and then listened with resignation as her friend gently but insistently told her what she already knew. Robbie Lewis was in love with ghosts. With Val, maybe even with the memory of his time with Morse… certainly with a life that he might have had. He cared about her, enjoyed her company, would always be happy to shout her a chip supper and a beer, but it was never going to be the romance of the century. For it to be real, he would have to act upon whatever feelings he had for her. And whether out of guilt, grief or that unfortunate genetic flaw that seemed to make all men backward in coming forward, he never would.

She drained her cup and placing it carefully down, stretched to grab a pen from the shelf behind her. A few strokes later, it was signed and dated. Done. As she looked out into her garden, she was struck by how much she would miss it. She wouldn't see the leeks she'd just planted come up. For a moment she wondered whether she could do this, just pick up her life and drop it down somewhere else? It seemed so simple on paper. But there would be letting agents to contact, moving firms to arrange, notice to give, and there would be people to tell. She took a deep breath, folded the single page of the signed contract into the thoughtfully enclosed pre-paid envelope and sealed it. She would speak to Human Resources on Monday.

* * *

By Sunday evening Laura was sitting in the centre of her living room, surrounded by piles of paperwork. She had just over two months before the move to Cambridge, but mentally she was already packing her bags. Tackling the piles of paperwork in her kitchen drawers was the first step. As much as she was meticulous in her work, Laura never really gave the same consideration to home finances, and there were nearly ten years' worth of utility bills and bank statements to sort through. As she piled up water bills and pay slips, it struck her that she would have to tell Robbie. It was so hard these days to define the lines of their relationship but she felt he should hear it from her. With Hathaway she would just mention it next time she saw him, he'd probably make a comment about it not being the same without her, they'd make a joke about Rawbone and he'd wish her the best. James would understand what the opportunity represented, how much it would mean to have her work finally translated into tangible surgical procedure. But with Robbie it would be different.

She reached for the hole punch and began to file things away. Yes, talking to Robbie would be entirely different. And the prospect of the conversation left her a bit nauseous. He might not have romantic feelings for her, but he certainly relied upon her friendship, and he didn't cope well with change. It would be awkward and she frankly didn't have the patience anymore for his sulking. She took a sip from her wine glass and closing her eyes, carefully tried to calm down. Even now, even when it was so clear that there was no possibility of a future with him, the realisation still hurt, still had the capacity to rile her. And of course he would behave like a child about this, he would kick against the change, he would make her feel guilty. But of one thing she was absolutely sure, he wouldn't ask her to stay. He never did.


	2. Chapter 2

For some reason, the first week of August always seemed to be quiet for Robbie Lewis. There was obviously something about the lack of undergraduates and the long summer evenings that made people less disposed to murder each other. He smiled to himself at his own ridiculousness…there wasn't exactly a 'season' for murder, but still, thirty years experience told him that today would be a slow one. Which was why he was currently slouching in one of the station cafeteria's plastic chairs, savouring one of Oxford's finest bacon butties and a well-stewed polystyrene cup of tea. Even the cafeteria was quiet this morning, only a few constables, a couple of the desk sergeants and a group of technicians from the mortuary. He smiled as his thoughts drifted to his favourite employee in that department. Well, in any department. Would she be in today? He hadn't seen her for a couple of weeks, and that had only been a quick chat in the corridor. He should probably make a point of sending her a text, sort out a drink after work next week. Hathaway would be on leave then, so he'd have her all to himself. Wiping the excess sauce from his lip, he set the bacon roll back down on the cardboard plate. There was no rush this morning, he could take his time for once.

In the corner, Hobson's technicians were clearing their table. He smirked, she always was a slave-driver. The way everyone was moving, he suspected that she would be in this morning, and that - he eyed the clock - the team had approximately four minutes to be in the mortuary before she went on the warpath. He took another bite, and leaned forwards as they bustled past, the threads of their conversation drifting around him,

"Well, it won't be the same without her…"

"It's an amazing opportunity though, I would leave if it was me"

"…end of August, right?"

"Apparently the Chief Pathologist hit the roof last week!"

"Yeah, Hobson will be a hard act to follow"

As the voices moved through the doors and faded down the corridor, Lewis took a deep slug of his tea. He must have misheard. It was impossible. He replayed the words again, checking for details, making sure he hadn't imagined it. Laura was leaving. Laura had told everyone she was leaving. Everyone except him.

* * *

A few seconds later the half-eaten roll lay abandoned in the canteen, and Robbie was striding down the rabbit warren of corridors to the mortuary. The lights in the dissection rooms were all off, so he marched into the staff room. The group from the canteen all turned to stare at him, somewhat bemused as he turned on his heel and slammed the door behind him. He turned left and thumped his arm into the double doors, and took a few strides towards her office. The door was ajar, and suddenly he could see her, already at her desk, already curved over a pile of paper, the soft glow of her desk lamp warming her face. Her blonde hair almost sparkled in the artificial light, and unaware of her observer, she pushed a stray curl back behind her ear. For a moment he hesitated, overwhelmed as he often was, by the strength of his feelings for this woman. It was almost a physical sensation, the longing he felt to protect her, to keep her close. She must have registered the sudden commotion and the subsequent silence because she suddenly looked up and smiled warmly,

"You looking for me?"

How could she smile at him like that? The anger flashed again, propelling him away from the confrontation, away from the conversation that suddenly he didn't want to have,

"No…sorry. No"

He turned on his heel and strode back through the doors, leaving a very confused woman in his wake.

* * *

As the morning slid into the afternoon, Lewis's mood darkened. He stared blankly at the screen in front of him, punching out emails and reports with his two index fingers. He jabbed at the keyboard, cursing when he made a mistake, scowling at the words in front of him. Why hadn't she told him herself? Why would she do that, leave him to find out from some kids in the canteen? It wasn't like Laura to sneak around, to keep him in the dark. If anything she was usually too honest and frank with him. It was one of the many reasons he loved her. She was the only one who had really sorted him out after Val's death, was the only one who had metaphorically kicked him in the balls and told him to step away from the bottle. She'd pretty much saved his life. Hathaway, sick of the huffing and puffing emanating from the opposite side of the office announced that he was off for a cigarette. Lewis merely nodded and scowled back at the screen. It made no bloody sense, they were supposed to be friends.

* * *

By four o'clock, Hathaway decided it was make or break. Leaning back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head, he risked a question,

"So are you going to tell me what has happened, sir? I haven't seen you this cross since Newcastle lost 4-3 to Liverpool"

Lewis shook his head and slammed the case of his laptop shut. This wasn't a conversation he wanted to have.

"Nothing lad, I'm fine. Fancy a pint?"

* * *

He hadn't planned to talk to Hathaway, really he hadn't. But as they sipped their second pints, the lad had asked again if something was up, and Lewis couldn't resist asking,

"Did you know that Laura Hobson was leaving?"

From the look on James's face, it was obvious that he hadn't.

"Oh well, at least I wasn't the very last person to find out…"

Lewis's shoulders slumped forward and he took another sip.

"Where's she going?"

"No idea…I only heard this morning that she's handed in her notice"

There was a silence as Hathaway joined the dots,

"So she hasn't spoken to you about it?"

Hathaway seemed genuinely surprised, and Robbie couldn't decide whether it made him feel better that he obviously hadn't overreacted to her not telling him…or whether he should feel even worse that she hadn't,

"Nope. Heard it in the canteen this morning."

James didn't need to ask whether this was the cause of his superior's foul mood. He'd seen the way Lewis and Hobson looked at each other, and in spite of his own lack of experience with the fairer sex, he knew a complicated situation when he saw it.

"Maybe she wanted to talk to you privately and hasn't had the chance yet?"

It was grasping at straws but he wanted to say something to make him feel better.

"Aye, maybe"

They finished their pints in companionable silence, and no more was said on the subject. As they left the pub they parted company at the bridge, with Hathaway heading back into town, and Lewis setting off along the riverside.

* * *

The moon was almost full, and in the half light of dusk, the river seemed to glow. The water was still, hardly a breath of wind, and it was beautiful. Oxford _was_ beautiful at night. Once the crowds were gone, the traffic fell quiet and the town was asleep, it was a magical place to walk. Why would she want to leave this? As Lewis walked his mind played over the events of the day. She'd seemed so pleased to see him this morning, just normal. If he was honest, he'd been feeling a bit guilty about not having spent much time with her recently. He'd been planning to make a point of getting back in touch, of spending some time with her. They'd never really talked about the events of that week, all those months ago, when he'd questioned her. They'd made up, of course they had…she'd hugged him after the funeral and told him not to worry about it, and he'd taken her at her word. But obviously something had changed. He'd just assumed she was busy, they both were these days. There had been significant funding cuts in all departments, everyone was working overtime and sacrificing holiday while the changes to infrastructure were implemented. Maybe she'd finally got sick of it all.

Gradually he walked back to the main road and curved back into town. His right hand was in his pocket, toying with his phone and he wondered again whether he should just call her and ask. His frustration was beginning to clear now and the overwhelming feeling was sadness. Although he had never really thought that Laura would return his feelings, now that he had the incontrovertible proof that they weren't as close as he told himself, he felt hopeless. It hurt, knowing that she had made this decision without him, without even explaining why. She clearly thought that her life needed a change, and that change didn't require him. He kicked a can lying on the pavement, toe-poking it into a hedge. No, he wouldn't call. She wouldn't welcome the intrusion, not now she had made her decision.


	3. Chapter 3

The last week of August ushered in a heatwave to Oxford, and revealed a sinister secret the city had been keeping for several weeks. It had been, as it often was, a dog walker who had the unpleasant privilege of finding the body, carefully hidden in the undergrowth by the edge of Southfield golf course. A young man, it would appear, but little remained to attempt anything more substantial without forensics. Which was why Laura Hobson, on her last week of work with the Oxford police, found herself sweating in a plastic suit, trying very hard not to be sick as she collected maggot larvae.

It was a tricky scene to secure, and the heat, while it had helped with finding the body, was working against her. The only reliable time of death would depend on the entomological data, so she persevered. The SOCOs were establishing the scene, and once the photographer arrived, she could bag the body and get back to the mortuary. Taking samples was a methodical, delicate task and as she worked through the procedure, filling the plastic tubes and labelling them, her mind wandered. One week to go. The house was basically sorted, the van was all booked for Saturday. She would need to spend a few hours to pack up the books in her study, but more or less, she was ready. The team had threatened a leaving do on Friday night, but she'd nipped that idea in the bud. As much as she loved a party, it seemed a bit premature, and the idea of finishing up the packing with a hangover was not appealing. If she was entirely honest, slipping off quietly without any fuss suited her just fine.

Another car was parking, and she glanced over to confirm her suspicions. Fabulous. She'd had a drink with James last week, and as she expected, he'd been positive about her move. But Robbie had been less forthcoming. A few times she'd tried to initiate a conversation, but he'd always found an excuse to avoid her. Last week he'd actually cut her off mid-sentence to answer the phone. Technically, she hadn't actually told him, but from what Hathaway had said, he was fully aware that in a week, she would be leaving. It was ridiculous. As she had anticipated, he was sulking because she'd had the audacity to take a decision. And, as much as she loved him - oh yes, what was the point in denying that now - this posturing was frankly pathetic.

* * *

"What do we have, Laura?"

His tone was measured, but lacking its usual warmth.

"Quite frankly, a bloody mess"

She saw him grimace and step back.

"Yeah, when isn't it… Is there anything useful to go on yet?"

She attempted a smile, and carefully dropped the last sample into its tube,

"Not much more than what you can see at this stage. Male. Young. No personal items, a couple of shotgun cartridges over there by the trees, but I can't tell you whether they have anything to do with it yet"

She heard him sigh and walk away, and she decided not to rise to the bait. Lewis was always a grumpy sod at a crime scene.

* * *

Half an hour later she was back at her car, cases loaded up and was spraying disinfectant over her gloves. She was tired and hot, and wanted nothing more than to get back to the station and have a shower. In the corner of her eye, she saw Robbie striding towards her, and she felt her heart sink a little. Once upon a time, she lived for these moments, a shared joke, a cheeky smile. Today she just wanted to go home.

"You done here?"

He was trying to be casual. She eased open her suit, carefully peeling it away from her, trying not to gag at the smell.

"Yep, thank god."

He seemed to hesitate, no doubt wondering if he should help with the suit, but then thinking better of it.

"OK, back to the station then?"

She nodded, concentrating on removing the cuffs, stepping out of the stained boots,

"Yes. I doubt we'll have him ready for a post mortem this evening, so it'll probably be lunchtime before I have anything for you."

He looked her, holding her gaze, and she was surprised to see a flash of anger,

"So do you ever plan on telling me?"

Breaking away from his stare, she folded the filthy suit over a few times and kicked it aside,

"Tell you what, Robbie?"

She wasn't being coy, she was tired and distracted, but as she looked up at him, his expression was one of disgust. The penny dropped, and she looked back at her feet,

"Oh, that…"

She turned back to the car, loading in her samples, distracting herself momentarily with the task. The last case was next to him, and for a moment she thought he might hand it to her, but he didn't move, flinching as she reached past him.

"I tried to tell you weeks ago, it's not that big a deal"

Immediately she regretted her choice of words,

"I wasn't sure what to tell you"

Later, he would ponder those words, but now, in the heat of the moment he couldn't see beyond his bruised pride,

"You told everyone else before you even thought about me"

The hurt in his voice surprised her, but she turned away, picking up a bottle of water from the boot, taking a sip,

"I told my team, a few people in HR, I just had to set the wheels in motion at work with the right people."

She felt his hand on her shoulder, and she was unsure whether it was supposed to comfort or intimidate. His tone left little doubt,

"So what category would you put me in, seeing as you've so obviously got it all so perfectly organized?"

She turned and stared at him, surprised by the venom behind his words, the way their friendship seemed to have shifted irrevocably. Why didn't he understand how hard it had been? He was just angry that she hadn't told him first. Her voice cracked slightly as she looked away, stepped back,

"Please don't do this…"

She turned, still overwhelmed by the man's stupidity, his assumption that she hadn't thought about him, that he was somehow irrelevant to this choice, and slammed the boot shut. Taking a shaky breath, she calmly opened the driver's door and sat down, placing her key in the ignition. The window was already wound down, and as the hurt slid effortlessly back into familiar frustration and anger she glared at him again,

"OK, fine. Consider this your formal notification. I'm taking a six month research sabbatical at Corpus Christi College, Cambridge, starting in two weeks. I apologise if this arrangement will cause you some inconvenience, but I'm sure my temporary replacement will be more than sufficient to meet your forensic needs."

She didn't wait for an answer, didn't see the look of shock on his face as she drove out of the car park. Didn't see the shift in his expression as he focused on the one important word she'd said. _Temporary_.

* * *

a/n Thanks for all the lovely reviews - it's always great to hear what you think! :) I should warn you, this isn't going to be a short story...


	4. Chapter 4

Tuesday morning brought a long and very boring series of review meetings for Lewis. No sooner had he finished the group staff meeting about phasing in new overtime rules, than Innocent pulled him in for a long discussion about a couple of lads coming up from the Met on secondment. He was knackered, and it wasn't even lunchtime. He'd worked late last night, wound up by his argument with Laura, taking his frustration out on a pile of very dull crime reports. Now he was sat at his desk, chomping his way through a rather sad imitation of a BLT sandwich and trying not to get mayonnaise over his keyboard. Hathaway strode into the office and dropped a manila file on his desk, judiciously avoiding the can of Red Bull,

"Nothing suspicious. Plenty of alcohol, finger nails show long-term cannabis use…but, to use Hobson's turn of phrase, he'd done a 'shit ton' of heroin. She ran a few DNA samples and he's come up on the database. Peter Martin. Got some previous, but mainly amateur stuff. Homeless for the last few years apparently. SOCOs are clearing the scene now, but there's nothing to indicate any foul play"

Robbie nodded, carefully placing the half-eaten sandwich back in the soggy paper box,

"Poor bugger. Still, she'll appreciate it being a simple one"

"Yes sir. Want me to start on the first draft?"

The younger man picked the file back up. Seeing as Lewis had made him go chasing after Hobson this morning, he clearly didn't have any plans to follow any of this up with her.

"Thanks lad, that would be grand."

Lewis took a long swig of his can and pummelled a few keys on his laptop. Hathaway smiled to himself, wondering not for the first time whether Innocent had ordered in Lewis-proof gear deliberately. The laptop had so far survived two cups of tea, some Pot Noodle and the crumbs from at least one custard slice. It was truly the workhorse of the station.

"But was she, you know, ok?"

He looked up, trying not to smile,

"Yes, sir… She was fine. Looked a bit tired, but who isn't?"

"Aye…"

There was a pause, and a few more jabs at the keys,

"Has she told you anything about this research project she's doing?"

Hathaway grinned, and sat back in his chair. Finally the old fool was starting to listen,

"Yes, actually. We were both giving evidence on the Wickes case a couple of weeks ago and she talked about it during the recess. Pretty ground-breaking stuff, by the sound of it"

"And that's the point of the fellowship thing?"

"Yes. She's got funding for a short-run trial, hopes to get enough good data to publish by the end of the year"

Lewis looked thoughtful for a moment, his eyes drifting to the clock.

"She did tell you it was only until April, didn't she?"

"Aye, she did. Still means we've got six months of bloody Rawbone though, doesn't it…"

They both laughed at the grim prospect.

"But she's ok, though? She was pretty angry with me yesterday…"

Not for the first time, Hathaway swallowed the impulse to demand his boss tell Hobson how he felt about her, and instead opted for something more straightforward,

"She's fine. But I'm sure she'd like to clear the air before she heads off"

He wasn't entirely sure how truthful that statement was, but it would do them both good. In some ways, he was looking forward to a few months without them sparring like teenagers. Ever since the Willard case they'd been avoiding each other, all the while using him as a messenger boy and frankly it was becoming tiring.

"Nah, I'm sure she's busy…"

Hathaway sighed, and returned his attention to the screen,

"Just do it sir, you'll feel better once you have"

* * *

By the following afternoon, Lewis had not only geared himself up to talking to her, but he'd thought up enough spurious questions to ask about the Martin case, just in case she was still angry with him. But as he walked past her office the door was shut and there was no answer when he knocked. Strolling into the staff room he found a group of the technicians having a late lunch break,

"Anyone know where Dr Hobson has disappeared to?

Marcus tilted his head towards the corridor and the large meeting room with the door closed,

"She's in with the powers that be…debrief before she heads off"

Lewis nodded, and checked his watch,

"How long's she been in there?"

"Since 11…"

The lad clearly wasn't in the mood to chat, but he persisted,

"Blimey, is that normal?"

Marcus exchanged a loaded look with Amy, before she replied on his behalf,

"Yes and no. The CP is pretty angry about her going to Cambridge, and I know Dr Hobson was worried he might try and make it difficult for her. They're probably arguing about the implementation of the new organisational structure."

Lewis nodded, casting another glance at the closed door. They were all facing cuts to their resources, and it would be exactly like Laura to try and arrange everything before she left. She wouldn't want to dump it on the new guy and come back to a mess.

"OK, well can you ask her to give me a call when she's got a minute?"

* * *

By quarter to five, Lewis was starting to worry. Surely she would be finished by now? It wasn't impossible that Amy had forgotten to pass on the message, but maybe Laura was still angry with him? Hathaway had headed home already, something about re-stringing his guitar for the weekend, and he'd finished literally everything on his desk, including the Mars bar. He looked up at the clock again. Maybe he should take a peace offering?

After a quick stop by the cafeteria, he headed in the direction of the mortuary. Pressing his nose against the dissection room window he could see Rawbone and a couple of the techs cleaning up. She wouldn't be in the staff room at this time, so he went straight through the double doors and down the corridor to her office. The door was only open a crack, but light was spilling out. He braced himself and carefully rearranging the polystyrene cups into one hand, he moved to tap lightly on the door. He almost dropped the drinks when the unmistakable sound of a foot or a fist slamming into a metal filing cabinet rang out, followed by a few choice swearwords. She obviously hadn't heard his soft tap, so he waited a moment and tried again a little more confidently,

"Laura? Have you got a minute?"

She took a deep breath. Could this day get any better? The heel of her hand was already throbbing, she still couldn't find the first draft of the budget proposal, and now she'd have to deal with Mr Grumpy. Bloody fantastic.

"Come in Robbie…"

She opened the next drawer of the filing cabinet and began to heave through the contents. He stepped in and leant against the door frame, obviously waiting for her to finish. She sighed loudly, slamming another drawer shut, and rubbed the bridge of her nose, trying to ease the headache that was building.

"You ok?"

She turned and looked over her shoulder. He was stood there looking concerned, holding two cups of something hot. She smiled weakly and nodded,

"One of those for me?"

He grinned and held out the cup,

"Thanks. Sorry…"

She perched on the edge of her desk and, having carefully removed the plastic lid, took a sip of the scalding liquid. He grinned and shook his head in disbelief,

"How the hell do you do that?"

"What?"

"Drink it when it's still boiling?!"

She grinned, and for a moment felt a little better,

"I'm super-human, didn't you know?"

He chuckled and held her gaze for a moment longer than necessary, no doubt reading the tiredness in her eyes, the slight redness.

"Amy said you were getting a bit of a grilling from the CP…did you manage to get the stake through his heart this time?"

She tried to smirk, taking another sip of tea, before setting the cup back on the desk.

"Not exactly"

She wondered for a moment if she should tell him everything. Tell him how she had spent nearly four hours fighting her corner, trying to explain the importance of her research, the importance of each and every member of the team. How the CP had all but spelled out her constructive dismissal if she refused to make the necessary cuts to her department. How he had branded her research project a useless sideline and a distraction from her role. Would Robbie understand the frustration, the humiliation of having her research so casually dismissed?

"What happened?"

She shook her head and, to her horror, tears pricked at her eyes. Not now, not in front of him. Quickly she brushed them away and took a deep breath, trying not to meet his obviously concerned gaze,

"Nothing…he just made it quite clear that he, and the rest of HR think my research project is pointless"

She took a deep breath and tried to smile. He put his cup down on the cabinet by the door and stepped closer to place his hand reassuringly on her shoulder,

"Aww, come on, what do they know, pet? That bloody idiot wouldn't know his arse from his elbow"

She smirked and flashed him a mischievous smile,

"You'd think that _would_ be somewhat of an impediment to a man's whose career was based on anatomical studies…"

He hesitated for a second, and placed his other hand on her arm,

"Come 'ere you"

Before she really registered what he was doing, Robbie had wrapped her in an affectionate hug, her head coming to rest against his chest. As always, her first instinct was to pull away and she tensed, but as his hand rubbed her back she found herself relaxing into him, folding her arms around his broad back. She closed her eyes, surrendering entirely to the moment, not wanting to say or do anything that might bring it to a close. He was equally still, just holding her, showing her what she knew he wasn't really able to say. He'd done this before, when her mum died, when she'd been rear-ended on her way into work, when she'd nearly been buried alive. If she ever really needed him, Robbie would be there, that much she knew. It was what friends did, and for all her dashed hopes for something more, he would always be her friend.

The doors at the far end of the corridor swooshed open, and he stepped back, running his hand affectionately up and down her arm,

"Better?"

She smiled and nodded, inwardly cursing the unfortunate colleague for their poor timing,

"Thanks. I am going to miss you, you know… Hathaway never gives me a hug"

He grinned and raised an eyebrow,

"I should bloody hope he doesn't. Anyway, he's a bony bugger, that one"

For a moment she held his gaze, wondering exactly what this playful attempt at jealousy meant, before Professor Giles popped his head around the door,

"Ah, Dr Hobson, sorry to interrupt, just wondered if you had five minutes to remind me how the new sampling machine fires up…both my postdocs have gone home and I need to get my gels out before I clock off. Can't get the bloody thing to start"

She rolled her eyes at Robbie, technology was not Professor Giles's forte, and he winked back,

"Will I see you before you go?"

She nodded, and lightly touching his elbow, thanked him again, before following the old duffer out of the office.

* * *

As Robbie walked home along the river in the warm evening sunshine, he couldn't help but feel optimistic. Laura might well be leaving for a few months, but he was sure they would keep in touch. He'd have to get Hathaway to show him how that Skype thingy worked, that would amuse her no end. Given the mauling she'd obviously had today, he really couldn't blame her for wanting to escape Oxford for a bit. Bloody cuts…stupid Tory government. His meeting this morning hadn't gone brilliantly either. Innocent was already starting to make pointed comments about early retirement and it wouldn't be long before the exodus started. It wouldn't work in the long run, never did. Policing was built on experience and intuition…yes, you needed the toys and the tech these days, but it didn't replace good old fashioned knowledge. No, Laura was right to have a break, sod 'em all. He'd be here when she got back.


	5. Chapter 5

On Wednesday, Laura made an early start and worked through her lunch break, so by five o'clock she was at home, wrestling boxes up into the loft. The letting agency had called again, asking if Professor Ashley would be able to move in on Friday afternoon, rather than Saturday, and she was feeling behind in the packing. It wasn't a problem really, she had a pile of leave owing, and frankly given yesterday's delights, the thought of disappearing quietly was appealing. Amy would be upset not to say a proper goodbye, but she could always send her an email to apologise. It wasn't as if she was leaving forever.

She had fallen on her feet really, with the new tenant. Middle-aged academic, working in the social sciences, on a visiting fellowship from Yale. He was staying Michaelmas and Hilary terms, so it would fit perfectly with her time away. And, like her, he was looking for something furnished and simple. In the living room she'd made a neat pile of boxes of things to take. It was mainly clothes, papers and reference books, not much of the personal, which was why she was now packing another set of boxes to haul up into the loft until her return. She didn't mind letting her house to a perfect stranger, but she'd be damned if she'd let him look through her things. There wasn't too much, just photos, a few ornaments, her precious coffee grinder, but they were fragile things so she took her time wrapping them carefully. There was something therapeutic about wrapping her life up and putting it in a box. The more she thought about it, the more she was certain that this was the right thing to do.

Her only lingering concern was that she would need to say goodbye to Robbie. Even though she was still upset with him, still furious with his inability to see what was happening, she didn't want to end things on a bad note. As she'd learned to her cost, you can't change someone, not really, and it wasn't fair to punish him for her disappointment. Robbie was a friend, nothing more, but also nothing less.

She'd been surprised to see him yesterday. It had been a bloody awful day, one of the worst she'd ever had professionally. The CP had always been difficult to work with, focused as he was on targets, costings, results, but he'd never explicitly undermined her like that. With the benefit of hindsight, she now wondered how much of his reaction had been based on jealousy. The research project represented a positive step away from the politics of the Forensic Team, and if the data went in the direction she hoped, there would be several publications to write. He was probably already imagining some kind of triumphant return in May, with renewed demands for more resources, more time to dedicate to her research. She sighed and hauled another box of stuff up the ladder and into the loft. What was it about men and bruised egos? She could be as proud as the next person, but she could never understand this ability men seemed to have to make an assumption before the facts. She had no intention to come back to Oxford and lord it over everyone else…she wasn't even certain she wanted to come back at all.

Not that she would be telling Robbie that yet. It seemed unnecessary to make grand statements at this stage, especially when she really didn't know what she wanted. Maybe, with a bit of time apart, she'd be able to gain some perspective on her feelings and be able to move on emotionally without having to leave Oxford permanently. She thought back to the previous afternoon, the way he had so effortlessly stepped forward and hugged her. After all these years she knew better than to read anything into it, but she was envious of his easy confidence. He really had no idea of the effect he had on her, that much was obvious, but he did care. Why did it always take a crisis for him to react? She would miss him. It would always be complicated between them, but if she could just move on a bit, find some new opportunities, maybe meet someone new, maybe it would get easier? She grimaced, the idea of dating really didn't appeal. Ellen had been singing the praises of eHarmony for months, and Laura didn't have the heart to point out that three short-term flings in a year didn't exactly constitute success. If she was honest, it wasn't the prospect of a blind date that left her cold, it was the idea of any kind of date. With anyone but him.

The loft was dusty and unpleasantly hot, and she climbed carefully down the ladder in search of a pot of tea. The kitchen was almost entirely untouched, just a few photos and pot plants were coming with her. In some ways it felt strange to leave everything here, but it would be far easier in the long run. The house in Cambridge was fully furnished, and she was sure that her tenant would appreciate the use of her things. And anyway, she would be coming back, probably. The kettle had boiled and she poured the water carefully into the pot. Maybe she should just take the rest of the week off, make a clean break of it? She could always meet Robbie for a drink somewhere. Meeting somewhere public would be good, would make it easier. She carried the pot and a mug into the living room and curled up on the sofa. Yes, a quick drink after he'd finished work, keep it simple. She picked up her mobile phone from the low coffee table and scrolled through the contacts. To a casual observer it wouldn't mean anything, but unlike all her other colleagues, he was listed not by surname, but simply as Robbie. Silly, sentimental fool. This was exactly why she needed a break. Quickly she keyed in the message and pressed send.

Within a few minutes, a reply pinged in. It was funny, Hathaway was always complaining about how Lewis was atrocious with all forms of technology, but he always replied to her messages promptly. As always, it was poorly spelled and slightly cryptic:

"On lates/Thurs nite, off Fri. Wen leaving?"

She smiled, knowing full well that the abruptness was a symptom of oversize fingers on a small keypad than a lack of interest,

"I'm leaving Friday morning, tenant is kicking me out :)"

A few minutes passed, and she took a sip of tea. Soon the handset started to vibrate, and her heart sank as she realised this was it,

"Hi Robbie, sorry, I should just have called in the first place"

"Nah, it's ok, I'm still at work. How's the packing going?"

She put her mug down and tried to relax into the conversation,

"Fine. Dusty, but fine. I'm not even supposed to be taking much stuff and suddenly I'm worried the car won't be big enough"

"You gonna need a police escort all the way to Cambridge?"

"Don't tempt me… I'll manage"

"I was thinking more about the other drivers, I've seen the speed you go!"

"Hey, watch it you!"

How exactly did he do this? How could he forget all the tension from the past few months and act as if nothing had happened? She closed her eyes, trying to simply enjoy his playful banter. Reminding herself that they were just friends, and this is what friends do.

"So what time are you leaving on Friday?"

She sighed audibly and explained,

"Well, I have to wait for the tenant to turn up, show him the ropes…he said he'd be here around 12."

"Great! Then I can definitely come over. Good. Thing is, I've promised my neighbour I'll take her and her cat to the vet first thing, but I can pop by around 11, once I've dropped them back. Would that work?"

She smiled to herself, typical Robbie. She'd never even set foot inside his house, but she'd heard all about his elderly neighbour and her incontinent cat.

"Sure, that would be nice. You can help me load the car…"

He laughed, and she tried to smile,

"No problem, just make sure you don't pack the teabags, I will require payment for my labour"

"Sounds like a deal"

"Listen, pet, I'm going to need to crack on here, Innocent's on the warpath"

"Lucky you. OK, see you on Friday"

She carefully set the phone down on the coffee table and retrieved her mug of tea, trying to process exactly what she'd just agreed to. So much for public and straightforward…

* * *

A/N - If you have a moment to leave feedback, it's always appreciated ;)


	6. Chapter 6

A/N - Ok, you amazing people, here is another chapter. First off, don't hate me, this is a 20 chapter plus fic, so we have a long way to go with these two (and yes, I have written the ending...and no, I'm not giving any spoilers!) Second, thank you so much for your lovely reviews! Although it's not the reason I write, it is incredibly motivating to read that people are enjoying it.

* * *

As Robbie pulled into a space opposite Laura's house he realised that he'd come to a decision. Ever since he had found out that the move was only temporary, he had been reconsidering his actions over the past few months. Now he'd had some time to understand the situation at work, had finally appreciated the stress that Laura was suffering from, it made perfect sense that she would want to have some time away from Oxford. He'd been a bad friend, he realised that now, and it was up to him to make things better. Enough of getting angry with her - it wasn't her fault he didn't want her to leave - it was time to man up a bit and be supportive. She'd always helped him when he was feeling at sea, especially back when Val died, and it was time to repay the favour. What she needed now was someone to encourage her, give her a bit of confidence, and - he looked across at the pile of boxes already by the door - shift that lot.

* * *

As they packed the last box into the car and Robbie gingerly swung the boot closed, they turned to look at each other. They were a good team, it turned out, and, as Laura looked at her watch, she realised that she still had an hour before Professor Ashley would be arriving. Not for the first time that morning, Laura's mind drifted to how much younger Robbie looked out of uniform. He looked good, and he was in far better shape than she'd realised. He'd made short work of the boxes and he'd barely broken a sweat. He caught her staring and she looked away, suddenly embarrassed.

"So, have I earned my reward?"

For a second she looked shocked, before remembering her early promise,

"Yes, of course…come on"

* * *

While she made tea, he unashamedly perused her bookshelves. With anyone else this behaviour would have annoyed her, would have felt like an intrusion. But where Robbie was concerned, it intrigued her. He'd never expressed an interest in literature, or reading of any kind really, but now he seemed very interested in her choices. Pretending to concentrate on her task, she snuck the occasional glance over her shoulder as he ran his finger along the shelves.

"Want to borrow something?"

He looked up and smiled warmly,

"Would you mind?"

She filled the pot and covered it,

"What's taken your fancy?"

He sighed, and shrugged his shoulders,

"This one about Mao looks really interesting"

She raised an eyebrow, and brought the tray to the table, before pulling out a chair and sitting down.

"I didn't know you liked reading, Robbie"

It wasn't intended as a criticism, but as she said it she worried it might have sounded that way. She bit her lip unconsciously and looked at him. He grinned mischievously, turning on that Geordie charm like a tap,

"There's a lot you don't know about me, Laura"

She laughed, and gestured for him to sit,

"I bet."

* * *

"So, tell me about this research project of yours"

She looked surprised, but smiled indulgently,

"Really? It's pretty specialised stuff…"

"Yes, but bear in mind you're talking to a copper, so use words of less than three syllables"

Grinning broadly, she set her mug on the table, and reached behind her for a pen and notepad sitting on the kitchen sideboard.

"It's probably easiest if I draw a picture"

"Aww, come on pet, I'm not that thick…"

She laughed loudly and patted him on the hand,

"It's not that…it just really is simpler if I show you it this way. It's much easier to see than describe"

As she sketched the series of diagrams quickly on the pad, Robbie knew he'd made the right decision. Entirely focused on her explanation, she practically glowed with enthusiasm and excitement. God he loved her. He would miss these moments. She was a patient teacher, repeating things when he needed her to, helping him to join the dots, to experience some of her excitement as he saw how her work would pull three important ideas together, would potentially make a real difference. Once she had realised that he was genuinely interested, she did everything she could to make sure he understood it properly. It was intoxicating, being the centre of Laura's attention, the focus of her brilliant mind. So often their conversations were incidental, cut short by others; it was a rare luxury to just listen to her talk.

"…and so, that is the basic theory"

He smiled, and sat back in his chair,

"It's a good theory"

She smiled back, looking more relaxed than he'd seen in months. She took a sip from her mug and grimaced at the now-cold liquid. How had they been sitting here nearly an hour?

"We need to wash these up, Professor Ashley will be here soon…"

He stood immediately, and gathered the cups,

"OK, I'll wash, you dry"

"Robbie, it's only a couple of mugs…"

"Fair's fair"

She smiled indulgently and held out her arm in the direction of the sink,

"Be my guest"

* * *

He filled the bowl with warm water and squirted in some soap. As he washed, Laura stared out of the window, her mind wandering. She loved this view. And it felt so right to be standing here, with him, in comfortable silence. She swallowed deliberately, choking down the feeling, and chided herself for being so stupidly sentimental. For the hundredth time, she reminded herself that this was exactly why she needed to go to Cambridge. So that situations like this wouldn't upset her. Picking up the now-washed pot from the rack she dried it methodically, concentrating on her task.

As he placed the last mug on the rack, and pulled the plug on the sink, Robbie turned and held out his wet soapy hands. Rolling her eyes she wrapped them in the tea towel, and, perhaps with more attention than was strictly necessary, she dried them. Her attention focused on his hands, Robbie took the opportunity to gaze at her face. In stark contrast to the vibrant woman of five minutes earlier she looked sad,

"Cheer up, just think, you'll be driving through Milton Keynes in a couple of hours' time"

To her credit, she managed a smirk, before sighing loudly,

"I am doing the right thing, aren't I?"

It was a question more to herself than anyone else, and she began to fold the tea towel.

"Laura…"

She looked up and he knew immediately what she needed, what was holding her back. He knew how important her work was, how much the disapproval of her peers must have hurt. He held her gaze deliberately,

"Of course you are, pet. You'll have a great time. Come here.."

Once again, he folded her into his arms and this time she didn't try to pull away. What was the point? He was trying to make her feel better. She took a deep shaky breath and let her forehead rest against his chest. His hand had come to lie at the nape of her neck, and his thumb was gently soothing her. For a moment she simply relaxed into the feeling, indulging herself one more time. Enough. This wouldn't do. But as she began to untangle herself, she felt the unmistakable sensation of a kiss being pressed to the top of her head. She stiffened and stepped back slightly, her hand coming to rest on his chest,

"I'm sorry, Laura…I shouldn't have done that…I"

She didn't let him finish. Shaking her head slightly, she slid a hand up to cup his cheek, and leaning up to carefully, pressed a chaste kiss to his lips, a kind of goodbye, a grateful acknowledgement of his kindness to her,

"It's ok"

Before she could react, could step back and put the necessary distance between them, his lips were on hers, his hand was sliding through her hair, holding her close, and he was kissing her. Her body responded long before her mind could, and she placed a hand on his shoulder to steady herself, to pull him closer, to deepen the kiss. The shrill sound of the doorbell brought Laura to her senses, and she gasped, stepping back clumsily, her hand immediately coming to cover her mouth, her eyes filling with emotion,

"I…I didn't mean for that to happen"

"Laura"

He reached out a hand, but she stepped back further,shaking her head and wrapping her arms around her body, her eyes a strange mixture of shock and cold steel,

"That didn't happen"

Laura turned quickly and taking a deep breath tried to calmly walk out of the kitchen. Adrenaline, oxytocin and dopamine were flooding her system, but knowing the chemical process at work didn't make the walk to the door any easier. She felt physically sick. What the hell had she just done? The whole point of this exercise was to get away from him, not kiss him senseless. A small voice in her head reminded her that he had kissed her back. But of course he did. He's male, he's probably not been kissed for years, of course he kissed you back, you stupid fool. Still the voice ran on…he doesn't love you Laura, he wouldn't know a relationship if it smacked him in the face. The doorbell rang again, and she glanced quickly in the mirror, trying to master a neutral expression, before swinging open the door,

"I'm so sorry Professor Ashley, I was at the bottom of the garden…do please come in"

* * *

Robbie sat back down at the table, and ran his hand across his face. What the hell had just happened? His heart was still racing, he could still taste her on lips, smell her perfume. He could hear her talking in the hallway, obviously starting some kind of house tour. Glancing up at the clock on the sideboard, he cursed the sodding professor…ten minutes early. Bloody hell. In spite of her reaction, of her panicked exit he couldn't help but smile. She had kissed him back. He raised a hand to his lips. He knew Laura…she wouldn't have kissed him unless it meant something. She just wasn't like that. The timing wasn't exactly perfect, hence, no doubt, her running away like that. But it had happened. Never in his wildest dreams - and those dreams had become more frequent of late - had he imagined that she might feel anything more for him than friendship. But she did. She had kissed him, and it had been perfect.

There were footfalls on the stairs, and he wondered again what he should do. They needed to talk properly, and this certainly wasn't the right time. Her plan had been to show the professor around, then leave him the keys and drive off to Cambridge. Her car was ready, and he knew that she wouldn't want to be late for her own appointment with the letting agent. As much as he wanted to run up the stairs and kiss her again, something told him that he needed to be patient, not to rush her. Grabbing the pad and pen from their earlier discussion, he tore off a new sheet and began writing:

Laura,

I can't pretend this didn't happen. But now is not the time for that conversation and I understand. I'm not upset and I hope you are ok. Take care driving, please send me a text when you get there, so I don't need to worry.

I'm going to miss you,

Robbie x

It took him longer than it should have, and even when he was done he wasn't entirely happy with it. Words weren't exactly his forte, but it was the best he could do. Getting up quietly, he picked up the piece of paper with her diagrams on and headed towards the hallway. As he walked past the bookshelf he made an impulsive decision to borrow the book on Mao, and he slipped the paper in between the pages. They were still talking upstairs and neither heard the door close behind him.

* * *

A/N - Will have another chapter up tomorrow... ;) Do let me know what you think!


	7. Chapter 7

It was after two when Laura finally got away from the house. Professor Ashley, whilst charming and friendly, had proved quite a particular gentleman, asking numerous questions about the heating system, the locks on the back door, how to set the dishwasher. They were all perfectly sensible requests, but she was hardly in the right frame of mind to be patient. Finally, she satisfied all his questions, and was picking up her keys from the table, putting her phone in her pocket. She wasn't entirely sure when Robbie had left, but she hadn't been surprised. Of course he wouldn't stay. She had read his note quickly and tearing it off the pad, she considered throwing it in the bin. Something stopped her, though, and she carefully folded the piece of paper and slipped it in her pocket, trying not to attract the professor's attention. He was exploring the kitchen drawers, and already she felt like an impostor in her own home. Quickly she jotted down her new contact details, her mobile number, and said her goodbyes.

* * *

Sliding the car into gear, she drove carefully down the quiet residential street, pausing at the lights, then right onto the main road. The traffic was relatively light, by Oxford standards, and she was grateful. Suddenly alone, she was overwhelmed by her thoughts and she was finding it hard to concentrate. She headed north, picking up the A43, and turned on the radio. She was almost at Bicester before she realised that it was tears that were clouding her vision. She brushed them away, irritated by her own stupidity.

She knew the journey quite well, and she couldn't help but let her mind wander. She could still feel his lips on hers, the comforting weight of his arms around her. Stop it, Laura. She took a deep breath and loosened her grip on the steering wheel. She had made a mistake in inviting him to her house. He had been supportive, helpful, understanding, and she had taken advantage of him in the worst possible way. He was a good man, a confused man, perhaps, but she knew she had crossed a line today. He had been nothing but kind in his note, clearly wanting an explanation but not pressing her for one. And, as always, he had stepped back, left her. The sat nav barked out another direction - she had switched it on amongst the never ending roundabouts in Milton Keynes - and she obeyed. No, Robbie Lewis did not love her, did not want a relationship with her, of that she was certain. Indeed, he had reassured her she was doing the right thing, actually encouraged her to leave. She sighed and ran her hand through her hair. And he was right, this was the right thing. Today had proved that beyond all possible measure. She had to get over Robbie. She had to.

* * *

By six she was at the house, giving it the once over with the agent. He was a nice lad, eager to please, but where Professor Ashley had been detailed and ponderous, Laura simply wanted to be alone. She barely listened as he explained how to adjust the thermostat, and she practically shooed him out of the door after a few minutes. Quickly and methodically she emptied the car, piling all her belongings into the small but comfortable front room, before finally closing the heavy oak door on the world. The house was small but exactly what she wanted. Two bedrooms, a small study, a decent kitchen. There was even a small terrace in the garden where she could sit outside if the weather held out. She was exhausted, but she knew that sitting down on the inviting sofa would be fatal. Extracting her phone from her bag, she switched it back on. Quickly she typed out her message - 'I'm sorry. Here fine. Will email later. L' - and switched her phone to silent. Wandering into the kitchen, she pulled open a drawer and placed the phone inside, before closing it.

* * *

At half past eight she finally collapsed on the sofa, tired but feeling accomplished. All the boxes had been emptied, her clothes in the wardrobe, her sheets on the bed. She toyed with the idea of walking round the corner to the Co-op that she had spotted while parking, but decided she couldn't muster the energy even for that. Hauling herself up, she went to the fridge. One of her first tasks on arrival had been to put a bottle of white in the chiller, and she now felt smug at her forward thinking. She'd brought a few basic supplies with her, and, lacking any appetite for proper food, opted for a large bag of kettle crisps. She poured a generous glass of sauvignon and replaced the bottle in the fridge. Glancing over at the clock on the wall, she opened the drawer in which she'd stashed her phone. She couldn't ignore this any longer.

The wine was good and, flicking on the tv, she began to feel some semblance of normality. The whole day had passed in a blur…a bizarre, exhausting blur. Setting her glass back on the table she inspected her phone. Two missed calls, both from Robbie. She wasn't surprised, he was a good friend. Of course he would have been worried about her. She tapped the phone against her lips, thinking. She had no intention of calling him. It would be too hard, and, quite frankly she had no idea what she might say. Somewhat rashly she'd promised to email him. Taking another long sip of wine she considered her options. It was only fair to explain, to offer some kind of explanation, at least. She reached for her MacBook and fired up her email…

* * *

Twenty minutes later, she was still staring at the screen. She wanted to be truthful, but she didn't want to say too much. The whole point of leaving had been to put some distance between them, and she was painfully aware that the wrong turn of phrase would have him worrying. She leant back against the cushions and re-read her efforts:

Robbie,

I know I said I'd write, but I'm not sure what to say. I'm sorry, this morning shouldn't have happened, especially not now. I'm sorry if I have upset you. I value your friendship more than anything, and I don't want you to question that. I'm not going to go into it all here, but the project isn't the only reason I needed to leave Oxford. I've got a few things I need to work through on my own. I don't mean to be cryptic, but please understand that I just need some time away. Please don't call me unless you really need to, you're a good friend Robbie, but it'll be easier if I can sort this out by myself.

Take care,

Laura

She sighed loudly. It was hardly satisfactory, but it was the best she could manage in the circumstances. There was no point telling him everything, laying her heart bare. It wouldn't change anything for the better, and it would certainly make things difficult. All she wanted was some time to get over him, to refocus her life, her career, and then to go back, refreshed and positive about the future. Deep down, that was what she wanted, to go back with an acceptance of the situation. And, although she couldn't exactly say why, she knew instinctively that telling Robbie how she felt about him would somehow make that impossible.

She closed the laptop and laid it carefully on the coffee table. The sofa was surprisingly comfortable, and relaxed back, curling her feet under her. She was exhausted, the stress of the last few months sweeping over her, and she closed her eyes. Not for the first time that day, her mind wandered back to her kitchen, his arms around her, his lips against hers. God, what was I thinking? She took a shaky breath, running her hand though her hair. She was here now. She had done it. It would be ok.


	8. Chapter 8

It was just over a week since the 'thing that didn't happen' and Lewis was beginning to wonder if he'd handled it right. Maybe he should have waited until her tenant had finished, and then insisted on talking about what they should do next? He'd read her email too many times to mention in the last few days, but he still couldn't made head nor tail of what she really meant. Maybe she did just want to pretend it never happened? He looked up from his computer at his colleague and wondered again whether he could talk to Hathaway? He took a long swig from the can of Coke on his desk and tried to focus on the report he was writing. Nah, it all felt far too personal. And, anyway, Laura would be furious if he told anyone about what had happened. He'd just have to sit this one out and be patient. Away from Oxford, she'd have a chance to de-stress, get the bloody CP and his cronies out of her system, build up her confidence a bit. She couldn't do that properly if she kept coming back to see him. He was worried about her, he always was, but at the same time he couldn't help but feel strangely optimistic, like a weight had been lifted. She had kissed him and it had been amazing. Never in his wildest dreams had he thought she might return his feelings, might actually be attracted to him. He'd replied as soon as he'd read her email, not saying much, just that he understood, and that she could always call him if she wanted to talk. That was what you were supposed to say, wasn't it? He'd known Laura Hobson long enough to know that if she spelled something out clearly, then she meant it, and he didn't want to upset her. At least now, after all these months, she knew how he felt. And she would let him know when she was ready to talk.

* * *

There was still a couple of weeks to go until term started, but Laura was getting into her stride. She knew the city relatively well, from her clinical placement at Addenbrookes during her training, but things had changed a bit in the intervening twenty years. Like Oxford, the city centre was mostly shops and restaurants these days, and she was sad to see a few of her favourite bookshops and pubs had closed. But mainly it was as it had always been. She loved the walk into work across the green fields of Lammas land and Coe fen, dodging the herds of cows, and she was relaxing into a routine. Every morning she got up at eight and walked into the office, grabbing a coffee at the painfully hipster place opposite the Fitzwilliam museum. Between 9.30 and 1 she worked in the small research lab with Alice and James, the two full-time post-docs, before taking a leisurely lunch break. Usually she eschewed company and took a sandwich over to the Botanical gardens. By 2 she was ensconced in her office, scanning through the data, checking and cross-checking. It was methodical work and, although no doubt boring to many, she loved its precision. Sometimes she worked late, sometimes she wandered around the small town, rebuilding her mental map of the various streets. Cambridge was beautiful at this time of the year, the late summer sun in the evenings warmed the old stone buildings, and she took her time exploring. The tourists were largely gone, the summer schools ended, and academics were gradually returning to the town after a long summer vacation of writing, conferences and research trips.

As she strolled back towards Newnham that evening, thinking about the latest run of samples, Laura realised that she hadn't thought about Robbie at all since waking up. Keeping herself busy was beginning to have the desired effect, and, although small, it was progress. There was something liberating about knowing, with absolute certainty, that she wouldn't bump into him at work. That she didn't have to spend a significant part of her day teetering between delicious anticipation and crushing disappointment. She knew she was being dramatic, but sometimes that was how she felt. And here, away from Oxford, she could finally relax. Freed from shift work, her sleep pattern was improving, and gradually the stress of the past few months was fading. Robbie had kept his word and not contacted her. She knew she should be grateful - it was after all what she has asked of him - but deep down a small part of her was disappointed.

It was nearly eight when she reached the traffic lights and crossed to walk down Grantchester Street. It was a lovely evening and people were sitting outside at the Red Bull, the pub just around the corner from her house. Apart from the Co-op, the little deli and the nice butchers round the corner, she hadn't really spoken to any of her neighbours. Making her mind up, she grabbed some cash from the machine in the wall, and headed inside. There were several obvious groups of friends, a couple sharing a pizza, and a large group down at the far end, watching football on a large projector screen. Seeing as she had no particular desire to watch the latter, she headed for the bar and ordered a G&T. The landlady was serving, and before long they had struck up a pleasant conversation about the village and the recent local elections. At some point a tall man with dark hair pulled up a stool and joined them. As she sipped her drink, Laura felt pleased with herself. This was exactly what she was supposed to be doing. Having an informal drink, meeting new people, enjoying herself.

"So you're a pathologist?"

She smiled and nodded,

"Yes, I work in forensics normally, but here I'm just working in the Pathology department"

He smiled back and took a sip of his pint,

"So what's your research on, immunology or cellular?"

Ah Cambridge… She smiled at the man's precision. Only in a university town like this would it be perfectly acceptable to ask such a question within two minutes of meeting someone. Encouraged by his interest she set out the main ideas behind her project. She was quickly aware that he had a more than passing interest in the field, and so she elaborated, answering his probing questions, enjoying the challenge of his curiosity. In the background someone scored and there was a roar from a few of the group watching. Momentarily distracted, she looked over her shoulder at the screen.

"You a Newcastle fan or a Spurs fan?"

She turned back, suddenly feeling empty, and tried to laugh convincingly,

"Neither"

Finishing her drink, she made a point of looking at her watch.

"Do you fancy another one?"

He was charming, intelligent and interested in her work, but much to her regret Laura knew her heart wasn't in it, not really. She smiled apologetically and slid off the barstool,

"I'm afraid I've got a friend coming over. It was really nice to meet you"

The lie was unnecessary, but he seemed nice and she didn't want to be rude. He smiled back and thanked her for the company. She nodded her goodbye to the landlady and walked the few streets to her house, stopping off at the Co-op for a few groceries.

* * *

Later, as she cooked a stir fry, she couldn't help but wonder what he was doing. If he was at home, he'd no doubt be watching the football. In spite of herself, she flicked on the radio and tuned it to Five Live. They were still leading one-nil, and she smiled. At least one of them would be having a good night.

* * *

Back in his flat, Lewis was unpacking a takeaway in the front of the telly. He was tired. It had been a long week, all told, and he was looking forward to putting his feet up. He flicked on the football, pleased to see that he'd only missed the first twenty minutes and that they were already a goal up. Gingerly he bent back the rims of the foil containers, and dumping the lids in the bag, tucked in. At half time, he went to grab a beer from the fridge, and picked his phone up from the hall table. As the whistle went for the restart, he scrolled through his inbox. Nothing. He wasn't exactly surprised, just a little disappointed. It was strange, before all this, weeks had sometimes gone by without seeing her, but this felt different. He was worried about her. Not for the first time, he wondered whether he should ignore her request and call anyway. Just to ask how she was getting on. But again, he checked himself. It wasn't what she wanted, not now. He had to let her come to him in her own time. It would be worth the wait. He put the phone back on the table, took another swig from the can and tried to focus on the game.

* * *

A/N - Thank you so much for all your lovely reviews! It's brilliant to hear what you think :) Warning, a few more chapters, then this will start to get a little more 'interesting'... ;)


	9. Chapter 9

October brought the first week of term and a huge influx of students to the city. Laura loved this time of the year in Oxford, and Cambridge was much the same. There was something exciting about the fresh start, the new faces. She loved the way that a new academic year focused the mind, and she was looking forward to the intensity of eight weeks' concentrated work. Being a visiting fellow brought with it some of the same rituals the freshers were experiencing. A small study to make herself at home in in the main College building, a bunch of keys for a variety of entrances and exits, and dinners…lots of dinners. The first had been in honour of her own matriculation to the College. Along with the other new Fellows - and there were six in total - she'd signed her name in the college roll and recited some Latin commitment to uphold the traditions and rules of the place. It was bizarre, and she really didn't warm to the sense of superiority that she saw in some of the Fellows, but she swallowed her disapproval and tried to enjoy the six course dinner being served. As the waiter had poured her dessert wine, making use of the fifth glass of her place setting, she couldn't help but smile at the thought of what Robbie would make of this. She could almost hear him now…

* * *

For Lewis, October had marked a swift change of pace at the station. They were still playing host to an ever-expanding team of officers from the Met, and he and Hathaway were having to take on an increased share of the caseload as the Oxford inspectors were roped in to help the new boys. It still wasn't entirely clear what was going on, and Innocent was playing her cards very close to her chest. It was clearly hush-hush, that much was obvious, but beyond that, no one was speaking. The usually nonchalant Hathaway was becoming more and more interested, and if he had to hear another speculation - whether it be nuclear defense or the re-emergence of the IRA - he would likely wallop the lad. For his part, Lewis was just knackered. As Friday rolled round all he could focus on was the prospect of a long lie-in on Saturday morning and a whole afternoon in front of the telly watching football, a spot of rugby, and then probably the grand prix highlights.

It was sod's law then, that the call came in at four, just as he was winding down, and he found himself at the site of an accidental death. He bloody hated crime scenes, always had, but this one took the proverbial biscuit. Large farm, just off the Wytham road, mainly cattle by the looks of it. And some poor bastard had fallen head first into the slurry tank. They were just fishing him out as he arrived, and as he suited up and put on the required mask, Rawbone was already making a fuss. It was disgusting - shit everywhere, the smell was so overpowering he could hardly breath. He couldn't even imagine how awful it would be to die like that. He seriously hoped the bloke had passed out before he went in.

Lewis worked the scene quickly, taking a few notes, not getting in the way of the SOCOs. He didn't ask Rawbone anything, just left the man to get on with his job. It was pretty obvious what had happened here. Had it been Laura, he'd have made a point of going over to commiserate, he'd have tried to make her laugh at the sheer grossness of it all. He smiled to himself. No, she wouldn't be sorry to have missed out on this one. He slipped the notebook back into his jacket pocket, and remembered he still had his phone on him. Peeling off a glove, he extracted the device and searched for the camera app. Grinning inanely, mask and all, he took a selfie of the scene, shit-stains and all. It was entirely unprofessional, but he didn't particularly care. Carefully he saved it and slipped the phone back into his pocket. He'd have to ask Hathaway the ins and outs of texting her the picture, but so be it.

* * *

It was just after nine in the evening when Laura's phone beeped. She was curled up on the sofa, nursing a glass of wine, reviewing one of her post-docs' draft conference papers. The sound startled her, and it struck her that she hadn't received a text in all her time here. There had been a few calls from Professor Ashley about how to reset the boiler, and one about renewing her car insurance, but that was it. Without the daily messages from her colleagues, and dispatch, her phone had been rather forgotten. She couldn't decide whether that made her happy or not. She took another deep sip of her wine and placed the glass on the table. She padded into the kitchen and yawning loudly, picked up the handset. With a swipe, she saw immediately who it was that had texted, and her heart leapt. Immediately she checked herself. For god's sake, Laura, it's a text message, not a marriage proposal. Purposefully, she went back to the sofa and poured more wine. Only after she'd taken another large sip did she open the message,

'Wish you were here?'

It made no sense, and for a moment she wondered if he was trying to be cruel. She was about to throw the phone down when it buzzed again, and a picture file loaded up. She squinted at the small screen. What the hell? Then realising what it was, she dissolved into an entirely uncharacteristic fit of giggles. The poor man…what the hell had happened? She couldn't see enough to work out the scene, even with her trained eye, but it looked pretty awful. Was that…? Oh god, it was. Not for the first time, she congratulated herself on her timely exit from the Oxford force. It was Rawbone's turn to take one for the team. Another sip of wine, and she contemplated a suitable reply. Failing to summon anything witty, she went with the obvious,

'Hmm…yes, there are a few things I don't miss at all about Oxford'

She put the phone on the table, and picked up the conference paper. She was nearly there, only a couple more pages. It was really rather good. Almost immediately her phone buzzed and she sighed. This was precisely why Robert Lewis was a bad influence on her,

'I hope you're not referring to me'

She swallowed, put the phone down, and forcibly returned her attention to the work in front of her.

* * *

At ten, she flicked on the news. Another terrorist attack in Egypt, a teenager arrested in Birmingham for disseminating extremist literature. She flicked it off, depressed. She eyed the wine bottle warily. She'd already had more than enough. Finally, she gave in and picked up the phone. His reply still hadn't changed. Her late mother had always been especially particular about being honest, and for a moment Laura wondered why the woman had always been so bloody certain. Perhaps it really was the best policy? She keyed in her reply and immediately turned the phone off. Honesty was all well and good, but after the best part of a bottle of wine, a certain amount of self-preservation was warranted.

* * *

As he stepped out of the shower, his second of the evening, Robbie heard his phone ping again. Resisting the temptation to drip all over the house, he waited until he was dried and in his pyjamas before investigating further. He'd been worried about texting earlier, but this was getting ridiculous. Whatever she was trying to sort out at work, there was no reason not to be friendly and he didn't need to pry into what was happening to stay in touch. He opened the message and smiled at the one-word reply,

'Never'

He hadn't meant for his question to be answered, at least not seriously. The whole point of the message had been to make her laugh, remind her he was still here. But now he saw it in front of him, he realised that it was exactly what he'd been asking. She missed him too.


	10. Chapter 10

The weeks passed, and Laura settled into her work. The first data run was extremely promising, and as October turned into November, she was working long hours going through the results with a fine-tooth comb. Not that she minded. It was good to throw herself into the work, and both in her small lab and the College, she was not alone. Everyone seemed to be working hard, achieving things, and it was exhilarating. The weather was starting to change, and she had switched from a quiet sandwich in the Botanical gardens, to eating her lunch in College. It was only a few minutes walk from the Department, and she was enjoying the company. For all her reservations about academic privilege and ivory towers, some of the Fellows were actually quite nice. It was fascinating meeting with people from all kinds of disciplines, and she now had a respectable grasp of the repairs taking place on the LHC at Cern; a new awareness of the role of Welsh in medieval poetry; and a heads-up that the Chilcot report wouldn't be published until at least 2015. It seemed to be standard practice to talk about work over lunch, and she relished the novelty of a group of colleagues who were actually interested in what she was trying to achieve.

* * *

October had also flown by for Lewis, but for far less pleasant reasons. Work had become ridiculous with all ranks pulling overtime in a bid to cover the extra burden. Gradually, Innocent had shared more about the reasons for the large Met secondment, and the more Robbie heard, the less he liked the sound of it. GCHQ had picked up significant traffic from sleeper cells in the Oxford area, and it was suspected that the city was playing host to a number of prominent extremists. Nothing was moving yet - it wasn't clear if anything would - but hours and hours of manpower were being spent on surveillance. It was boring and tiring work. As much as Hathaway made an amusing companion, eight hour shifts in unmarked cars, acting as back up for the specialist surveillance teams really wasn't what he had trained for.

And so here they were again, spending a Thursday night camped out in a crap Mondeo, two streets away from one of the houses under suspicion. Hathaway had make a quick recce to the nearest chip shop, and they were both demolishing what purported to be a steak pie. Whether there was any steak in there had yet to be determined.

"How did the inquest go this morning?"

Hathaway was just trying to make conversation, and these days there really wasn't much to talk about other than work,

"Fine. Accidental death. Rawbone did his report, expert bloke from the manufacturer talked about the faults with the breathing apparatus, case closed"

"Pretty grim way to die though…"

Lewis grunted in agreement, shoving another piece of pie in his mouth,

"Aye, though he was unconscious before he hit the shit"

Hathaway folded up his chip wrapper carefully, almost delicately, and placed it in the carrier bag. He looked out of the window. It was raining again.

"Did you send Hobson that picture, sir?"

Lewis paused, and looked momentarily confused,

"What picture?"

Hathaway's face was instantly neutral, and he looked straight ahead. Crafty bugger. Robbie had deliberately made a point of asking him how to send it without specifying who the text message was for.

"One of these days, you know, you're going to be wrong, Sherlock"

Hathaway grinned to himself,

"Yes, but not today, sir"

* * *

By eight, Laura was regretting her decision to sign up for dinner in College. In stark contrast to the vibrant, interesting young men and women she'd met at lunch, high table dinner turned out to be a veritable retirement club. The gentleman on her left was polite enough, but it was clear that conversation wasn't his forte. He was no doubt a very esteemed scholar in his field, but once they got past the pleasantries, he'd simply turned back to his food and ignored her. On her right, again another gentleman - for they were nearly all men - was practically stone deaf in his left ear. He'd smiled occasionally, asked her if she was married yet, and rambled on about Ovid. The only real entertainment came from a friendly looking man opposite. The table was too wide really for proper conversation, but it hadn't escaped her attention that he kept staring at her, trying to catch her eye. He was attractive enough, wild curly hair, bright blue eyes, and the extra kudos of being a well-known author, but she wasn't interested. Partly because she'd caught him removing his wedding ring between the entree and the meat course, but mainly because he was so blatant. It had been a long time since a man had made it quite so obvious. Unless you counted Peterson. Which she didn't. Alan was just an enthusiastic puppy really, just needed a firm hand. She smiled to herself and sipped her glass of wine.

As the sweet course was cleared and cheese and fruit began to appear, Laura began to register how very out of place she actually felt. This was precisely the kind of Cambridge she had wanted to avoid. They were all very nice, of course, but there was something claustrophobic about so much tradition, so much opulence. The author was still trying to make conversation, breaking all conventions to pass her the port across the table. She smiled, amused by his audacity in the face of stupid rules, but her heart sank. It was all silly schoolboy games. Finally, the Master rose and they all retreated into the SCR, where brandy and more coffee was being served. Quietly, she slipped away, dumping her gown in the cloakroom, and saying a quick goodnight to the porters. It was dark, and she was grateful that she'd remembered her bike lights. It was amazing how little artificial light there was on Coe fen, and without them, it would be impossible to find the path. As she cycled carefully across the wide stretch of blackness, the mist rising up from the cold river, swirling around her, she wasn't sure if she was exhilarated or terrified. It was an eerie feeling, to feel so isolated in a busy city, and she peddled a little faster. Soon though, she was back at the house on Derby street, and, propping her bike up against the wall, unlocked the door.

* * *

Rather than settle down to read or do some work, Laura opted to head straight to bed. She made a pot of camomile tea and, switching off all the downstairs lights, retreated upstairs. The bedroom was one of her favourite things about the house, and she would be sorry to leave it. It was a relatively small room, but it was cosy and tastefully furnished. The bed frame was solid oak, as were the floorboards, and with her piles of blankets and cushions, it was the most relaxing room she'd ever stayed in. She showered quickly, changed into her pyjamas, and curled up under the covers. It had started to rain outside, and she smiled at her decision to come home early. She poured a mug of tea and picked up her laptop. There were several emails from Amy back in Oxford, asking about some outstanding cases, but nothing urgent. James had replied to her message too, and she scanned his email quickly. It sounded like they were busy, he hadn't gone into details but there was obviously something going on. He was asking about how her research was going, mentioned a conversation he'd had with a friend in the pub, who worked at the Biomedical campus, promised he'd pass on her details when she was back in Cambridge. And that was it. He didn't mention Robbie at all, which seemed strange. She took another sip of tea. Was that intentional? Closing the laptop she relaxed into the mound of pillows and cradled the cup in her hands. Don't over think things Laura… Another five minutes passed, until finally she reached for the phone on the nightstand,

'Did you know, academics in Cambridge are just as boring as academics in Oxford?'

It was pathetic really, but she knew it would amuse him. Within a minute, a reply pinged in,

'I can think of one who isn't. Everything ok?'

She couldn't help but smile. Such a charmer…

'Nothing a cup of tea won't fix. You?'

'I've been sitting in a car with Hathaway for six hours'

'You have my condolences. Say hi from me'

'I will. Sleep well. And call me if you need me.'

* * *

From the passenger seat, Hathaway feigned disinterest at the stream of beeps emanating from Lewis's phone, choosing instead to stare out of the window. His boss was trying to be discreet, that much was obvious, and this intrigued the inspector immensely. Especially since the reflection in the side window quite clearly showed a grin plastered across the older man's face. Curiouser and curiouser. Lewis slipped the phone back into his pocket and turned on the radio.

"Everything alright, sir?"

Lewis paused slightly, before nodding,

"Aye, everything's grand…just trying to sort Christmas with our Lynne"

Looking back out of the window, Hathaway slumped even further down in his seat, his knees pressing deep into the dashboard. Christmas with Lynne, my arse…


	11. Chapter 11

If October was a sprint, November had become more of a marathon. The wheels had started moving on the operation and Lewis and Hathaway had been relegated to working in one of the spare interview rooms. They were crowded around the small table, laptops practically touching, and it was doing wonders for their working relationship. Hathaway, just returned from a cigarette break, was compiling witness statements from a break-in earlier in the week, and Lewis was pretending to read a long briefing note from Innocent. The clock ticked loudly into the silence, and the day dragged on. For the third time since lunch, Hathaway chewed on his pen and leaned precariously backwards on his plastic chair.

"You'll break your bloody neck one of these days, you know?"

Lewis's words were more of a growl than a sentence, and he barely looked up from the paperwork. Hathaway smirked, deftly returned the four legs of the chair to the ground and attached another paperclip to one of the statements.

"I got an email from Hobson this morning"

Lewis was scribbling in the margins of the text in front of him, and for a second he paused, before completing his sentence. Hathaway allowed himself a small smile and opened the next manila file in the pile.

"What did she want?"

His tone was carefully measured, determined not to give the lad the satisfaction.

"Not much, just being sociable"

Lewis looked at him, obviously surprised.

"How did she sound?"

"Fine…I don't know, sir, always a bit hard via email, but fine."

Lewis looked at him pointedly, making it clear he expected to hear more,

"Apparently her work's going well. That was why I emailed her. I was in the pub with Amy last week and she mentioned that Hobson had been asking for some files to be sent over."

Seeing a lifeline, Lewis snatched at it,

"Down the pub with Amy, eh? Anything I should know…?"

Hathaway looked vacant and raised an eyebrow. Perhaps Lewis wasn't quite ready to hear that not only was Amy gay, but that she had recently married her very attractive, and sadly equally gay wife. He ignored the question.

"Did you two sort it out before she left?"

Lewis returned his attention to the paperwork in front of him, and attempted to sound non-committal,

"In a manner of speaking…"

"Do I want to know what that means?"

"It means mind your own bloody business"

* * *

The afternoon was filled with the unfortunate task of attending what looked like a hit and run on a cyclist. The girl was a student, only been in Oxford for a few weeks, and the driver had clipped her turning onto Manor road, and driven straight off. Thankfully, her injuries appeared to be relatively minor, and Lewis delegated the hospital visit to Hathaway and headed home. They always got to him, these cases, even when it wasn't fatal, and he knew the best thing was to head home and do something to take his mind of it. It wasn't so much grief that floored him - he'd had the best part of eight years to work through life without Val - it was the anger and frustration at how nothing had changed. There were still stupid, arrogant idiots out there, threatening to ruin someone's life with a moment's lack of care. And all the good policing in the world wouldn't change that. It made him feel useless and depressed, and it made him crave a drink. Not that he'd go down that route. The days of getting properly drunk were long-past and tonight would be no exception.

He showered and changed his clothes as soon as he got home, as was his habit, and then made some beans on toast. It wasn't exactly haute cuisine, but it was what he liked. In the years since Val's death, he'd become better at cooking, he even enjoyed it sometimes, but on evenings like this there really was nothing like simple comfort food. He ate at the table, the Guardian sports section spread out beside him, and tried not to think about the events of the day. It was what he missed most about Val, the easy conversation in the evenings, the boring minutiae of married life. It wasn't that he particularly wanted to talk over things, far from it, but he missed the companionable silence.

As he washed up the pan, the plate, and refilled his mug, he wondered if he had enough energy to work on his project. It was delicate work, and he knew better than to attempt it when exhausted, but perhaps it was precisely the kind of activity he needed this evening? After searching for his glasses, he sat down in the living room and pulled out the heavy tool box from under the table. He was making a chess set for his grandson, and, given the rate he was managing to finish the pieces, it might just be done in time for his 18th birthday. Extracting one of the pieces he'd already worked up on the lathe a few weeks ago, he picked up a small chisel and began the laborious process of shaping a rook.

* * *

Laura had arrived home late. She had nipped into the Co-op to pick up some pasta, and the queue had been surprisingly long for eight o'clock on a Tuesday night. Now she stood by the hob, idly stirring spaghetti, trying very hard not to cry. She shouldn't be upset, it was ridiculous - she knew that. But all afternoon she'd been bottling it up and now, exhausted and hungry, the dam was threatening to break. It had started in the group meeting this morning, and the good news that the latest application to the Wellcome trust had been successful. They had secured the funds for another two PhD students, starting in June, and there would be a further annual £280,000 available by September, for three years. All eyes had turned to Laura at that point, and the penny had dropped. Leo, the PI quickly cottoned on to her discomfort and made a joke,

"It's alright, Laura, you don't have to say yes now…"

She'd smiled, rolled her eyes, and they'd continued with the meeting. But as they discussed the week's work, she'd found it hard to concentrate. Even with overheads, the full economic costing, the money would be enough to pay her salary for the foreseeable. She had basically been offered a job on a plate, and she had no idea what to do.

The afternoon had rolled by, and at seven she had still been staring at her computer. She'd achieved almost nothing since lunchtime, caught up in her own thoughts. So she'd given up and walked home. Normally the exercise would have helped, but not this evening. She added some salt to the water and wiped a stray tear from her treacherous eyes.

* * *

By nine, Robbie was putting the finishing touches to the main body of the little castle. It had gone quite well, all things considered, but now he was getting a bit cross-eyed. Carefully, he wrapped the piece in a felt square, and set it back in the box with the other finished and nearly-finished pieces. Relaxing back into the sofa, he flicked on the telly. There wasn't much on, and his mind wandered, as it often did, to Laura. He closed his eyes and tried to picture what she might be doing. Working, probably, if he knew her as well as he thought he did. He smiled sadly to himself. Was she really happy in Cambridge? It had been over a week since their exchange of texts, and nothing. He'd resisted the urge to call her, but Hathaway's comments this morning had unsettled him. Why would she email him? The lad had been dismissive, and maybe he was right…but it didn't seem fair. Surely he could get in touch without disrupting her break from work? Without hesitating, he reached over for the laptop piled under some magazines, and fired it up. Surely it was time to have a proper conversation? Trying not to over-think it, he typed quickly,

Dear Laura,

I hope you don't mind me sending an email. Hathaway mentioned that he'd written to you, and I figured if that was ok, then maybe I could email too? Anyway, I just wanted to say hi and that I hope your work is going well. Work is really busy here, can't tell you the details but it's big and Innocent might pass out when she sees my overtime for this month. Anyway, it's not the same without you. I think that at least once a week, you know? Rawbone is being a total arse and Hathaway doesn't laugh at my jokes. Seriously, pet, I hope things are alright. You worried me when you left like that, after, you know, everything. I'm always here if you need me, anytime.

Right, I hope I haven't done the wrong thing emailing.

R x

He stared at the screen for a long time, agonising over the signature. Was it stupid to add an 'x'? He always did that when he sent a text to Lynne. Surely these days it didn't mean much? For god's sake, this was a woman he loved, a woman he had kissed… He left the 'x' in. Promising himself that he wouldn't stay up waiting for a reply, he switched off the computer and put it back on the table. It was still early, and he picked up the book he had been reading. It was the one from Laura's bookshelf, and he was enjoying it immensely. He found his place easily, marked as it was by the folded piece of paper with her diagrams on, and settled down to read.

* * *

A/N - Thanks for all your lovely reviews, glad that you're enjoying it. There is some drama ahead (chapter 13 is certainly going to be unlucky for some..) so buckle up! ;)


	12. Chapter 12

Laura woke late the next morning, her head pounding and her eyes sore. She had slept poorly, caught between trying to weigh up her options and desperately trying to switch off her brain. In the end, neither had really worked and she had tossed and turned, dreaming endlessly. Not for the first time, she had dreamed of being back in her kitchen, kissing Robbie. Not for the first time, she had felt his heavy arms wrapped around her, lifting her to his lips, kissing her passionately. When she woke, she felt exhausted and overwrought.

Part of the perks of being a research academic meant that she could work from home, and this morning she made use of the privilege. She showered, dressed, tried to eat breakfast, and then sat for several hours at her desk, annotating corrections to the group's first article. She enjoyed the methodical nature of the task, and worked efficiently until she had finished. By eleven, she felt the need for more coffee and wandered into the kitchen to make a fresh pot. As she waited for the kettle to boil she finally allowed herself to think about the events of the previous day. Nothing definite had been said, but the writing was on the wall: if she wanted it, there would be a semi-permanent job for her here in Cambridge. She'd wouldn't have to decide immediately, but if she were not to take it, then it would be important to let the group know with enough time for them to advertise the position. The work was the important thing, not the person in the role. The kettle pinged, and she filled the coffee pot. How on earth would she make this decision? She sat at the kitchen table for a long time, a pad of paper and a pen in front of her. It was overly simplistic, of course, but the two columns in front of her were a start. In the yes column were the obvious things: interesting work, nice colleagues, potential for academic profile, a new challenge. In the no, things were more complicated: lack of job certainty, forfeit forensic qualifications, no practical work, having to move house. At the very bottom, somewhere between the two lists she added a single name followed by a question mark.

After lunch, she realised that she should probably check her email. As she worked through the work queries, she noticed that an email had been forwarded from her Oxford account. It was from Robbie. Of course he would choose to email her today of all days… She smiled sadly, wondering if she was really ready to read what he had to say. She had worked so hard to get over her feelings for this man, and yet every day it just seemed to get more difficult. By and large, he'd honoured her request for privacy, and yet still she felt overwhelmed by the very thought of him. It was ridiculous. She opened the email and read, forcing herself to slow down, carefully processing his words.

As she finished, she had tears in her eyes, and she began to admit to herself that maybe this feeling would never end. She really wasn't the romantic type. Hearts and flowers were the stuff of fairy tales and awful romance novels, and they certainly weren't the basis for a good relationship. And this wasn't infatuation…certainly not. It was far simpler than that. She just missed him. Missed his solid presence, his honest, wholehearted approach to life and yes, his crap jokes. She didn't believe that people 'fell' in love…it was something you built over years of caring for someone, sharing their space, their life. If she stayed in Cambridge, then she would lose all that, would lose him, she was sure of that. But if she went home, could she bear to be his friend? For all the weeks of distance, hard work and thinking, she was back at square one.

* * *

In Oxford, Robbie was perched on the edge of a table in the incident room, listening to the primary briefing for tomorrow's raid. Finally a day had been set, and things were picking up. Innocent was doing a double act with some posh hot-shot wanker from the Met, and it was actually pretty funny. In spite of the depressing subject matter, they were blatantly sparring and trying to score points in front of a room of thirty or so of their subordinates. He smiled to himself as Innocent once again interrupted Mr Obviously-went-to-Eton and corrected him on a point of detail. Good old Jean. Not that he wasn't taking the operation seriously. It was pretty grim stuff really, three addresses, up to fourteen suspects, and the possibility of significant armed resistance. There was no evidence that bomb-making was taking place, but there were plenty of signs that this was what they were planning. It was a new strategy, in the light of 7/7…get the data trail, aim to convict on emails and recordings, but bring them in before they went operational. It wasn't without its risks though. Not for the first time, he was grateful he'd never trained for armed response. He looked round the room, identifying the new faces, and wondered what made them choose it. A lot were ex-army, a few SAS…but still. Was a bloody difficult job and certainly must make family life interesting.

Hathaway nudged him and passed on the thick pile of notes to hand round. It was a while since Lewis had done this kind of raid and he was impressed by the level of detail. Full plans of the locations, right down to the width of doorways, the number of stairs. There were mugshots of all but two of the suspects, and detailed instructions about the order of events. Lewis sighed audibly and took a sip of his tea, trying to focus on the plans being described by his boss and her new plaything. It was going to be a long day…

* * *

Laura worked straight through lunch and by four she was beginning to flag. It was a beautiful crisp autumn afternoon though, so instead of ploughing on, she decided to take a stroll. It was one of things she liked best about her little house in Newnham. Five minutes out the door and she was in open countryside, walking by the river as it curved its way towards Grantchester. There was about an hour before the sun set, and she had just about enough time to walk to the small village and back before it got dark. There was a chill in the air these days, and she pulled her coat around her. It was extremely peaceful here, the occasional plop of a duck diving under the only disturbance. As she walked she pondered on the contents of Robbie's email. It was sweet of him to have bothered really. She'd not exactly been forthcoming of late, and it was nice to know that he missed her. Perhaps she should call him? The more she thought about the last few months, the more she wondered if she'd been wrong just to leave Oxford without talking to him. Maybe if she could explain how she felt it would somehow make things easier? Almost immediately she dismissed the idea. Even the thought of telling him how she felt left her feeling queasy. Laura had never been one to talk about her feelings, not really. It was something that had got worse with age though. Once upon a time she had criticised Robbie for exactly the same thing, but that had been different. Hadn't it? She plunged her hands into her pockets and strode on. Maybe she should have another chat with Ellen? They'd spoken earlier in the week, just catching up really, but maybe she could call back this evening. She was always hesitant sharing too much with her friend, acutely conscious that the woman's profession offered her more insight than most. The last thing she needed now was a therapy session…

She reached Grantchester as the sun was just dipping over the horizon, and not wanting to get caught out in the dark, immediately doubled back on herself. She was feeling better now, the exercise was doing her good. She thought back to her decision-making this morning, weighing her gut feeling carefully, testing it. With Robbie removed from the equation, she wasn't sure she wanted to stay in Cambridge beyond April. As much as this foray into full-time research had been refreshing, she missed the practical side of her job. And she missed her home, her gardens…her life. Rather than pursue an academic career here, she could explore the possibility in Oxford. Perhaps she could negotiate a bye fellowship at one of the colleges, or an affiliated role in a department. None of it was impossible, and it would keep her options open. And then there was Robbie. She sighed loudly and ran her hand through her hair. Running away had made no difference whatsoever to her feelings. If anything, it had made things worse. The practical, rational side to her character wondered if, having failed so impressively with one approach, she should try the opposite. Not by telling him, of course, but by talking to him more. Involving him in her decision whether to take the position in Cambridge, or whether to come back to Oxford. He would understand the various pushes and pulls she was experiencing, the sheer frustration she felt at the way the forensics team was run. He would be a good ally, a good friend. Ellen would certainly approve of that course of action. Yes, she agreed with Laura that Robbie was not romantically interested in her, but she had never dismissed him as a friend not worth keeping. As she pushed through the heavy iron gate at the end of the footpath, she realised that she had made her plan. She would call Ellen this evening. And then Robbie tomorrow morning, once she'd had a chance to sleep on it. She would talk to him about how hard she was finding it to making a decision, and ask him for some advice.

* * *

A/N Apologies for those of you wanting chapters quicker...I have some big projects on at the moment, and limited time to play! :)


	13. Chapter 13

Lewis was sat on an uncomfortable bench in the staff changing room, pulling on a pair of heavy trousers. It was a ritual that he seldom practiced these days, and as he slid off his normal smart shirt and replaced it with a tightly fitting black long-sleeve t-shirt, he was reminded of his early days in the force. God, he'd hated being out on the beat. There really was nothing like the delights of central Newcastle on a Saturday night, especially after a game. But all that had been nothing compared to policing the pit riots during the miners' strike. He pulled on the surprisingly heavy overjacket and clipped it in place. They'd been reassured that helmets weren't going to be used, except by the armed response unit. Bloody uncomfortable things, and given his role in the operation, entirely pointless. The large changing room was filled with bodies, all going through the same transformation, the same mental shift from husbands, fathers, boyfriends to policemen. Carefully he hung his suit in the small locker, checking that his wallet and phone were carefully stashed. He was about to switch the latter off, when he noticed a text had arrived. Frowning, he opened it,

'Can we talk?'

He smiled, his face lighting up. She wanted to talk to him. Finally. He glanced around the busy room and then at his watch. They had ten minutes before the first briefing. For a moment he considered just ringing her back, he was so impatient to hear her voice, but his sensible side won over. It was going to be important, this conversation, and he wanted to be at home, on the sofa, preferably with a pint, and he wanted to talk to her for as long as she would let him.

'Bit tied up right now, but will call later, Rx'

* * *

Back in Cambridge, Laura was practically pacing her kitchen. It was stupid, she knew she was overreacting, but still she was annoyed. She looked again at her phone and re-read his reply. 'Later'. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Pausing briefly at the kitchen table to finish the last of her coffee, she walked out into the garden to do some dead-heading. Maybe Ellen was right? They'd spoken for nearly an hour the previous night, and although Laura hadn't shared half of what was on her mind, Ellen had quickly picked up the bare bones of the situation. She was in favour of her going back to Oxford and telling him how she felt, just like that. Apparently there would be something cathartic in just confessing all and moving on from there. She agreed that Robbie would probably be embarrassed and might feel awkward around her, but Ellen was adamant that in the long-term it would get easier for both of them. Laura was not so convinced. She had conveniently forgotten to mention the fact she had kissed him just before she left, and that they had not even talked about that. Going back and confessing her feelings would not be as simple as all that. It seemed unfair to burden him.

This morning though, she had resolved to talk to him about the job opportunity. She missed his sensible approach to life, and she was certain that Robbie would know what she should do. Only now it seemed that he was too busy to talk. She pulled another dead flower from the bush in front of her, perhaps with a little more force than necessary, and sighed loudly.

* * *

In Oxford, the teams were fully briefed and Lewis and Hathaway were walking out into the station car park to their assigned car. Too late, Lewis realised that he'd brought his phone with him. The rules on these kind of operations were clear, no phones. As he wondered whether to dash back to the changing room, it rang. Laura. Hathaway rolled his eyes and opened the car door, shutting it behind him.

"Hi Laura, everything ok?"

"I'm fine…can we talk now?"

She sounded tense, and he regretted what he had to reply,

"Not really pet, I'm in the middle of something at work, and I'm not sure how long this is going to take"

There was a pause, and her voice lightened,

"Oh…something big?"

He smiled into the phone, teasing her gently,

"Something like that?"

She played along,

"Sounds interesting…any juicy corpses?"

Innocent walked out of the station and shot him a look.

"Not yet… Listen Laura, I really can't talk to you about it, not yet. I'm not even supposed to be on my phone really"

"Fine"

He could picture the expression on her face, stern and disinterested.

"I'm sorry, pet, it's just you're on leave, and I can't…"

She interrupted him, cutting him off,

"I shouldn't have called, never mind. I'll let you get back to it"

"Laura…"

"It's fine, bye"

He looked again at the now-empty screen, and wondered if he should send a text. God, it had been so good to hear her voice. He was still trying to decide when Hathaway opened the car door and announced that they were about to move. Putting the phone in the glove compartment Lewis resolved to think about it this evening. Now really wasn't the time to try and sort it out. Once the operation was over, he'd be able to tell her a few things. She'd understand once he had a chance to explain.

The drove in silence, the radio jabbering away with information. The briefing had been clear, the armed teams were already in place and they were just there to provide some backup, crowd control and, if necessary, assist with ferrying any arrests back to the station. Robbie was exhausted, but, as usual had insisted on driving them. The sooner this was all over the better.

The cordon had already been set when they arrived and they parked up next to the convoy of police cars. It was nearly three thirty, and the first raids were scheduled for 3.45, timed to coincide with the arrival of three of the suspects home from their shifts at a local cleaning company. The briefing had clarified all the details, and Lewis and Hathaway were both scheduled to be accompanying Team 3, searching two of the flats in Alexander House. Lewis tried to concentrate on the task ahead, but his mind kept replaying his conversation with Laura. She'd sounded tense. Surely she hadn't been nervous calling him? He remembered the feeling of her lips against his own. Did she think he was going to interrogate her? He smiled to himself. Poor Laura.

Slowly, the minutes ticked by…

In stark contrast to the dramatic shouts and barging in so often seen on tv, the armed team moved silently to the front and rear exits. Two sergeants were equipped with a steel battering ram, and as the team all assumed their positions, they made short work of the door. There were several shouts from inside, and a loud crash, like a wardrobe falling.

The team moved in, the armed response first, the regulars behind. Lewis focused on the tall outline of Hathaway's back, leading the way through the door. It was gloomy inside and he blinked quickly to accustom his eyes to the shadowy hallway. He waited, obeying the plan.

The armed team were clearing each room, a kind of ritualised dance, punctuated by the occasional 'all clear'. They quickly cleared the ground floor and moved up to the upper levels. Heavy boots echoed above them. Hathaway followed his instructions to enter the large living room, and Lewis strode up the stairs. Radios were now chattering away, as the first and second teams entered their buildings. He could hear shots, though whether from the radio or the floors above, it wasn't clear. Loud thuds and crashes rang out above him, and another shot, this time unmistakably from one of the rooms above. He hesitated on the stairs, conscious of his task, suddenly aware of the danger of the situation, wondering if he should step back down. There was a shout above and sounds rushed towards him. All at once a heavy weight collided with his chest, and he was twisting, falling. Desperately he tried to grasp the bannisters, the carpet, the man whose body was propelling him downwards, never making purchase. His head hit the wall with a sickening thud, and then there was only blackness.


	14. Chapter 14

Later, during the inquiry, Hathaway would describe how he'd heard the loud crashing sound of DI Lewis falling down the stairs, the sound punctuated by the sharp cracks of two shots. It was unclear at first whether the detective inspector had collided with the wall before or after the shots had been fired, but the result had been the same. The suspect had been immobilized instantly, a bullet entering his upper arm, causing him to double over in pain. Quickly, Hathaway had wrenched the ugly blade from his failing grip, cuffed him, hauling him off the man beneath. One of the armed response team lifted him away, dragging him towards the door. Hathaway turned back to his partner. It was immediately clear that Lewis was unconscious and oblivious to the chaos unfolding above him.

Later, the details, the precise sequence of events would be important, would be discussed at length, but now Hathaway was focused on the very real scenario unfolding in front of him. He was on autopilot, his training guiding his body as his mind raced. He checked the airway, careful not to move Lewis's neck any more than was absolutely necessary, and spoke clearly into the radio,

"DI Lewis injured. Looks serious. Paramedic now."

The next few minutes were a blur. Around him, Hathaway could hear the sounds of the house being cleared. His hand was firm on Lewis's arm. The raid had been a success, all suspects were secured, the radio babbled incessantly. Two teams of paramedics arrived within seconds, one for the suspect, one for Lewis. Idly he mused that it was typical of an unconscious Lewis to have two beautiful women seeing to him. He stepped back, letting them do their work. It seemed to take a long time. The flak jacket felt heavy on his shoulders and he realised that he was shivering. A hand came to lie firm on his back.

"What happened?"

He didn't need to turn, couldn't take his eyes off the expert hands deftly securing Lewis's neck in a collar.

"I don't know, ma'am"

He ran his hand through his hair, and leant back slightly against the firm pressure against his back.

"You're going to need to come with me now, James…he's in good hands"

He turned, and without meeting her eye nodded.

* * *

The next three hours dragged by. She insisted that he travel back with her to the station, that he take a shower and change before the debriefing began. The warm water and generic shower gel did little to dispel the tension across his body. As he washed his hair, he realised that there was still blood on his hands. In the interview room, Innocent was calm and methodical. Although there were several other Met officers there, taking notes, asking for occasional clarification, it was she who talked him through what had happened. She asked nothing more than the record required, pushing him only when she absolutely had to. But she kept it professional, and he was grateful for it.

After, she insisted that he accompany her to the canteen, where they both forced down a plate of overcooked spaghetti bolognese. Even though they had spent over three hours discussing what had happened, alone now, they barely exchanged a word. From time to time, Innocent would check her phone for updates. There were none.

At seven, Inspector Jackson came into the canteen to ask him whether he knew where Lynne Lewis was on holiday. For a moment Hathaway looked confused, but then understanding, shook his head,

"Who are his other emergency contacts?"

Jackson smiled gently, obviously surprised he didn't know,

"He's listed his daughter, you and Dr Laura Hobson"

James tried to smile back,

"Well, one out of three isn't bad…"

Innocent checked her phone again and frowned.

"Can I go now, ma'am?"

She nodded and wasn't surprised when he stood immediately.

"You should call Laura too…"

He hesitated and was about to question her but,

"…come on Hathaway, keep up"

She grinned wickedly, in spite of the situation, and he couldn't help but smile.

"I'll call her as soon as we know something"

* * *

It was nearly ten o'clock and Hathaway was still pacing the corridors of the Radcliffe. He'd arrived nearly two hours earlier, but no one seemed in a position to discuss Lewis's condition in detail. He'd cornered a locum doctor who had confirmed that DI Lewis was indeed undergoing surgery on his shoulder, to repair a shattered collarbone and bullet wound, but nothing more. The young man could give him no indication as to the severity of the injury nor how long the surgery would take. He sat back in the hideous orange plastic chair and began to stare at the clock. It was late. He really didn't want to call Hobson until he knew exactly what they were looking at, but similarly, if he left it much later, he'd have to call in the morning. Another group of nurses strode past, studiously ignoring his hopeful glance. He waited. Ten minutes later Sergeant Jones walked in, carrying a bag.

"Sir, DI Lewis's things, from the squad car and his locker. Haven't gone through it, but thought it might be best for you to hang on to it for the moment."

Hathaway nodded, and took the carrier bag.

"Any news yet, sir?"

He shook his head, and slumped back in the seat.

Jones knew a man of few words when he saw one, and he said his goodbyes and went back to questioning one of the suspects injured in the raid.

Minutes passed, Hathaway may or may not have nodded off. He was suddenly startled by a buzzing from inside the bag. Without thinking he reached in and picked up the phone. Assuming it would be Lynne, he quickly opened the message,

"I'm sorry, try again tomorrow? Laura x"

He blinked twice and pressed 'call'.

* * *

Laura was in bed, trying to complete a crossword, determined not to give in to the temptation to call Robbie. The frustration of earlier had slid gradually into disappointment, regret and now she was just a bit embarrassed that she had flown off the handle. It had been nice to hear his voice after all these weeks. And she knew exactly how it could be sometimes at work. Many a time she'd ignored her phone, elbow-deep in a chest cavity…it was just the way things worked sometimes. She was stuck on the last two clues and she was beginning to lose patience. Reaching for her phone, she quickly keyed in a message. No sooner had she pressed send, and picked up her pen, the phone began to ring. Robbie. She grinned and checked the clock. Nearly ten thirty. Oh well, it would beat this bloody crossword,

"Isn't this a bit past your bedtime, old man?"

There was a pause, and then an unfamiliar voice,

"Dr Hobson, it's James Hathaway"

She lifted the phone away from her cheek and quickly checked the contact details glowing on the screen. Robbie. Her pulse quickened, and she felt suddenly sick,

"What's happened to him, James? Where is he?"

She heard him take a deep breath,

"He's been injured. The raid today. It's been all over the news. I'm at the hospital now. I had hoped to call you with more details, when I had them, but I was just holding his phone when your text arrived"

She was already out of bed and looking for some jeans,

"How serious is it?"

"I don't know. He's in surgery now, something to do with his collarbone. He fell down a flight of stairs, and I think he might have been shot, I don't know."

She could hear the edge of panic in his voice, and in an instant she made her decision,

"How long has he been in surgery?"

"A couple of hours, but they won't tell me what's happening"

She tried to make herself sound calm, authoritative,

"They never do, it's part of the training. Don't worry, I'll be there in a few hours"

"Laura, it's ten thirty at night…"

"…which means I'll be with you by 1.30 at the latest"

He sighed, obviously caught between telling her to stay and knowing that she would ignore him.

"I'll wait here"

"I'll be as quick as I can…and promise me you'll call if there's any change"

She hung up and took a deep, shaky breath. She couldn't get upset now, she mustn't. Entirely on auto pilot she dressed and filled a bag with her phone charger, a change of clothes, her toothbrush. In the kitchen she boiled the kettle and made two mugs of instant coffee. She added milk and slowly, methodically, she drank both straight down. Within ten minutes she was sat at the wheel of her car, carefully reversing out of her parking space. As she joined the main road she took a few deliberate deep breaths, focusing her mind on the drive ahead. She couldn't think about what he was going through right now, what damage might have been done. All she could do was concentrate, drive, and get to him as soon as possible.


	15. Chapter 15

It was ten past one when Laura swung her car into the semi-deserted car park of the John Radcliffe. She switched off the headlights, and turned off the engine. She was aware that she'd driven most of the way on autopilot, oblivious to her surroundings, and she felt suddenly drained from the effort of concentration. She blinked a few times, trying to hold back the tears of exhaustion and emotion, before reaching into her bag for her phone. All the way here, she'd pondered the options, working through her long list of contacts, until she remembered Alice James from Merton College. They'd studied anatomy and pharmacology together in second year, had attended the same lectures and some tutorials with Professor Christie. She saw her periodically around Oxford, sometimes the Radcliffe, and they'd met again at Ligeia's funeral. They'd caught up, and she'd mentioned her new position in thoracic surgery. It was a long-shot, but at one in the morning, Laura was happy to roll the dice. She found the number of the main switchboard, and asked if Dr James was on duty. It took a few minutes, but she was in luck, and she was transferred to her pager. It only rang a few times before she picked up,

"Alice James"

"Hi Alice, this is Laura Hobson…we talked at Ligeia Willard's funeral last year"

There was a pause, and then the sound of someone sitting down,

"So we did. How are you, Laura?"

She hesitated, desperate to keep the tremor out of her voice,

"Um…I'm not entirely sure yet. That's why I'm ringing. I need to ask you a big favour"

"Okay…"

Her tone was sceptical, and Laura wondered how best to explain,

"It's something personal. A good friend of mine was brought in this evening, with a chest injury and I was hoping you might be able to find out what was happening?"

There was another silence as the doctor weighed the issue of patient confidentiality against friendship,

"Would he happen to be a policeman?"

"He might"

Laura's voice was small, and the other doctor decided not to ask any more questions,

"You can stop worrying. I finished stitching him up about an hour ago, he's in the recovery room now."

"Oh thank god…"

Alice smiled, wondering just how much the gentleman she'd had on her table meant to Laura,

"It was a close shave though. Clavicle fractured in three places, entry wound just above the clavicle, nasty damage to the trapezius - I've repaired it as much as I can, but we'll have to see how it heals. He was stable throughout though, and there's no cerebral edema. Can't say until he's properly conscious whether there will be any issues, but the signs are good"

Laura swallowed, grateful for the clear, concise summary. There was something immensely reassuring about the familiar terminology. And he was going to be ok. She thanked Alice and promised to catch up soon. She didn't mention that she was sat outside in the car park, pulling herself together before facing up to the situation properly. Anyone else would probably think she was crazy, sat here in the dark, but it was how she'd learnt to cope with the grim realities of her job. Each dissection required a careful disassociation between the reality of the body in front of her and the technical intellectual challenge. When a difficult situation presented itself, this was how she coped, she stepped back and planned each action she had to take. Now, she had to confront the sight of someone she loved in pain, in all probability with an audience, and the only persona she could occupy would be that of a professional, used to seeing trauma. She rubbed her eyes and took a deep breath. One thirty. She would go in, offer James Hathaway a cup of coffee, and reassure him with the details she'd gleaned from Alice.

* * *

She found him slumped in a row of plastic chairs, his arms swept out possessively along the backs of them. He looked exhausted, but attempted a smile,

"Ah, Dr Hobson…welcome to my master suite, with king-size facilities, do make yourself at home"

She grinned, shaking her head,

"Honestly, James, I bet you say that to all the girls"

He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes, and she sat down right next to him,

"You ok?"

He took a deep breath and nodded slowly.

"How long have you been here?"

He glanced up at the treacherous clock on the wall and grimaced,

"Since nine, I think. Innocent gave me the once over, after it all happened, then she forced me to eat dinner with her…"

"Geez, haven't you been through enough?"

The joke was pathetic, but they both smiled. He rubbed his tired eyes and continued,

"Got here about nine, they told me precisely nothing, except that he was in surgery. Then one of the nurses came over at about midnight, told me they had finished, and that one of the doctors would come and explain in the morning. I may have pointed out that it was already morning…"

Laura smiled knowingly,

"Oh dear…never piss off a tired nurse"

"Hmmm"

She leaned back against the uncomfortable chair, slouching in the same way, her head coming to rest against his arm,

"Well, I have some good news"

"You ordered pizza?"

"No…but that is a good idea. No, I pulled a few strings and spoke to the surgeon. He's going to be fine. He'll have a long recovery - sounds like the muscle damage might be quite serious - but he'll be fine"

She felt him shift slightly, and she wondered if her matter-of-fact tone had been too much. He didn't say anything, but she could feel him looking at her.

"He's in recovery right now, and I expect they will keep him sedated for a day or so, let his body start to heal. They'll probably move him sometime during the night."

She tilted her head slightly to meet his gaze, raising an eyebrow. He looked drained, physically and emotionally. She smiled again and nodded. Something shifted in his eyes, and he rallied, remembering his part in their game,

"So, would you care to join me in a, um, strip-light lit romantic dinner for two of Domino's finest, Dr Hobson?"

* * *

Just after three am, the duty nurse walked down the corridor and found them slumped in their seats, Laura's head resting against James's arm. She smiled for a moment, and wondered if she should just leave them to their rest. Remembering the young man's earlier stern instructions, though, she shook him gently.

"Excuse me, sir"

He was awake immediately,

"We've moved Mr Lewis into a private room, sir. Are you his next of kin? If you'd like to see him, you can."

Laura yawned loudly and sat up, as Hathaway cleared his throat to reply,

"I'm his partner, and she's his emergency contact, will that do?"

The nurse smiled, not for the first time wondering what on earth their family set-up might be, and nodded.

* * *

Lewis was slightly elevated in the bed, his injured shoulder bandaged and fitted with a drain. Laura scanned the set-up carefully, unable yet to look at his face. The cannula was well-placed, and whoever had fitted the lines had done a tidy job. Gradually she lifted her eyes, swallowing hard, willing herself not to break down. He was ok. Apart from the obvious gash to his right temple, and the discolouration already forming, he looked like he was sleeping peacefully. He had been sedated, but he was breathing normally, without any assistance. Hathaway looked at her, as if for reassurance,

"He looks good, James"

He nodded, and silently wondered how awful he would have to look for it to be bad. They stood there for a few long minutes, each in quiet contemplation. In spite of the beeps and clicks from the machines, it was strangely calm in the room. He yawned loudly, the events of the day swiftly catching up with him.

"You should go home and get some sleep"

Her tone hovered deliberately between a suggestion and a request, and he smiled gratefully.

"I'll come back first thing"

She nodded, pulling up a chair from by the door.

"Will you be alright on your own?"

She glanced at him, holding his gaze a second longer than normal, and smiled, before looking back at the man in the bed,

"I'll be fine. I won't be on my own…"

* * *

A/N - OK, only promise I'm making is that I won't kill Lewis. :oP


	16. Chapter 16

The door closed behind him with a click, and Laura finally allowed herself to look at the sleeping man properly. She sat down carefully in the chair next to his bed, and leant her elbows on the mattress. He looked peaceful, certainly not in any pain yet, and the colour was gradually returning to his ashen features. It was strange to see him again after so many weeks, and her eyes took their time, studying his features. It was something she'd never done before, had never had the opportunity. It felt like an intrusion of his privacy, but she found it too hard to look away.

His breathing was shallow but steady, it's rhythm strangely relaxing. She was exhausted, and here alone with him, she felt the emotion of the last few hours threatening to overwhelm her. Carefully, knowing full well he was sedated, but nervous nonetheless, she covered his hand with her own. His skin was warm against her chilled palm, and she caressed his knuckles with her thumb. She blinked a few times, tears spilling silently down her cheeks. What on earth was she going to do now? It felt so right to be here, but she knew she was simply projecting her own feelings onto him. He's unconscious, for god's sake, Laura. Wiping away the treacherous tears with her sleeve, she lay her head in the crook of her arm, and gave in to her exhaustion.

* * *

The night was punctuated by occasional clicks and puffs from the equipment, but Laura slept on oblivious. Had she scrutinised the observation charts at the end of Robbie's bed, looked at the relatively light dose of sedatives he was being given, there was no way she would have allowed herself to sleep in his company. But of all this she was blissfully ignorant. As the insipid morning light began to creep under the blind, the patient blinked a few times, and gingerly opened his eyes. He was aware of having slept for hours, his body heavy with the lethargy that only extended sleep can bring, but he could barely keep his eyes open. He was in pain, his shoulder burned angrily, and he was thirsty. His head was pounding and if he tried to focus on anything for too long, the room began to spin. He closed his eyes again, and registered the click and swoosh as something mechanical did its job. Within seconds, he felt the burning ease, and his body relax. There really was nothing like a good dose of morphine. He would have smiled, if he'd had the energy. Time seemed to float by, indeterminate, and his eyes slid open again. There was a warm pressure on his hand, fingers clutching his. He took a careful breath, trying to focus. She was curled up, head tucked in her arm, her beautiful blonde hair fanning out across the sheet. And she was fast asleep. Involuntarily, his hand twitched, registering the sensation of her skin against his, and she shifted slightly, squeezing his fingers in her sleep. Laura. He smiled, his eyes drifting closed again, his thumb slowly caressing the back of her hand.

* * *

At seven, a new nurse bustled in, startling Laura awake. Her neck was aching, and as she straightened up carefully, she noticed the large hand clasped around hers. Cautiously she looked at Robbie, and was relieved to see that he was sleeping soundly. The nurse picked up the clipboard at the foot of his bed, and began scribbling. Laura carefully extricated her fingers from his and nervously ran her hand through her hair,

"You alright there, Mrs..um, Lewis?"

Laura's heart sank and she shook her head,

"I'm not..., um, he's just a friend"

The nurse grinned and rolled her eyes, obviously used to getting it wrong,

"Looks like he's had a good night, his obs are really positive"

Laura smiled, wondering if she should try her luck and ask to have a look at the notes.

"I suggest you go and get yourself some breakfast and maybe a proper rest, though…he'll probably be back with the living in a few hours, and then, in my experience, you'll be running around all over the shop"

For a moment, Laura looked shocked,

"That soon? Isn't he being sedated?"

The nurse fixed the clipboard back on the end of the bed with a clatter,

"Yeah, but all the signs are he'll be coming round soon"

Once again, Laura looked back at him, his peaceful, calm expression soothing her. The nurse, finished with her checks, slipped out, and they were alone again. For a long moment Laura watched him, trying to decide what to do. Suddenly the prospect of him waking up seemed unnerving.

* * *

As she walked out of the hospital, she felt giddy and disorientated. Back in her car, she turned on the radio to listen to the news. It was nothing interesting, but it was something to jolt her back into reality. The past 24 hours had been entirely out of time and she was struggling to decide what to do. Eventually she drove to the station and, nodding at the desk sergeant, walked down the corridors to the mortuary. It was still early and the place was deserted. It wasn't the nicest place to have a shower, but there would be warm water and, assuming the cleaning staff had already been in, fresh towels. She swiped her card across the reader. Red light. She tried again. Red light. Cursing, she briefly contemplated asking the desk to let her in, but she couldn't muster the energy. She wasn't supposed to be here.

Idly, she wondered what Professor Ashley would make of an emotional woman turning up at 'his' house at eight on a Sunday morning, demanding a shower and some breakfast, but swiftly rejected the idea. She had no desire whatsoever to talk to anyone, least of all a charming but loquacious professor. After ten minutes of parking the car - even on a bloody Sunday morning, Oxford was impossible - she opted for a full English at a greasy spoon off Turl Street. It was quiet, the regulars not yet out of bed, and she tucked herself in a corner seat and ordered an entirely uncharacteristic heap of food, and a large pot of tea.

Halfway through her second pot of tea, and the third slice of toast, her mobile buzzed,

'Just heard from Lynne, she'll be arriving this afternoon. How's the patient?'

Setting the handset back on the formica table, Laura took a sip of tea, and speared another rasher of bacon with her fork. Gradually she was beginning to feel more human. And as her energy returned, and her analytical powers clicked into gear, she began to wonder exactly what she was doing here in Oxford. If Robbie was ok - which he was - then what exactly was she waiting for? Lynne would be here soon, she'd look after him properly, keep an eye on him during his recovery. Would it really help either of them if she was sat there when he woke up? They were friends, that's all. It was all very well dashing to someone's beside when you thought they were dying, but... And anyway, she'd have to leave again soon… Now wasn't the time to talk. About anything. Tomorrow marked the last week of term, and she not only had all the various meetings and dinners which heralded the end of the academic session, but she'd also offered to help with undergraduate admissions. As soon as the current students went down, there would be nearly sixty medical applicants, all requiring thirty minutes of her time. She swallowed the bacon, washing it down with more tea. She couldn't stay in Oxford.

Picking up the phone, she hesitated to consider her words. Hathaway was as sharp as a scalpel…the last thing she wanted was him putting two and two together and coming up with seventeen,

"Laura, everything ok?"

She smiled, trying to make her voice light,

"Yes, all good. I'm just having a massive breakfast before I start the drive home"

Short and sharp, to the point. Well done Laura.

"You're driving back to Cambridge today?"

"Mmm…it's the last week of term, haven't really got an option. Plus I'm technically homeless here"

He paused, obviously wondering what to say,

"Is Robbie awake then?"

Damn.

She faltered slightly,

"Not sure. The nurse was very optimistic that he'll be awake this morning."

"Don't you want to stay to see him, Laura?"

"I can't…"

The words hung between them, and she half-hoped that he'd just understand. Understand, and then agree to never mention it ever again. The silence stretched and she wondered if he'd heard,

"I'm sorry, James…"

He coughed nervously,

"It's ok, Laura. I'll tell him you came and that we shared pizza over his nearly-dead body…he'll like that. Hell, it's pretty much his idea of a perfect wake"

The breath caught in her throat, and she prayed that he mistook it for a stifled laugh,

"Don't tell him I came James, he'll only have a go at me for being an idiot"

Again, that slight hesitation,

"Are you sure?"

She nodded, staring out of the cafe window, at the bricks of the college opposite,

"I'm sure. Tell Lynne to call me if she wants any more info from the surgeon"

"Will do"

"Thanks James"

She hung up before he had a chance to say any more, and immediately switched her phone off. The remaining scrambled eggs on her plate had gone cold, but she ate them anyway. Ten minutes later, she was back in her car, heading back to Cambridge.

* * *

A/N - Please, nobody kill me! In line with the character in this story, Laura is still convinced that Lewis is not relationship material, and so she reacts in the only way she knows. But fear not, Inspector Lewis is now well and truly onto the case… ;)


	17. Chapter 17

The next two weeks passed in something of a blur for Laura Hobson. Even though she wasn't involved in undergraduate teaching, there were numerous meetings, committees and College events that she was expected to attend, and she abandoned herself to the tide of invitations. In the quieter moments, her mind drifted to a hospital room in Oxford, and her ridiculous trip to see him. Even though it played on her thoughts, she knew she had made the right decision to come away now. She still wanted to talk to him properly, to discuss the position in Cambridge, but now wasn't the time. And turning up at his bedside, tears rolling down her cheeks, was hardly conducive to a sensible conversation. He needed to concentrate on his recovery, he didn't need to deal with a hormonal woman who should know better. Every few days, a text pinged in from Hathaway, and she was pleased to hear that Robbie was already at home, being looked after by his daughter. She'd never asked James to keep her informed, but she was nothing but grateful. Maybe he did understand how she felt? Last week she'd sent a get well soon card, but there had been no reply from Robbie as yet. In some ways, she was thankful that. It meant that Hathaway had kept his mouth shut, and they could just all get back to normal.

* * *

In Oxford, Robbie Lewis was scrutinising the chipped paint on his living room picture rail. It would need redoing, once he was back on his feet. Not that there was anything particularly wrong with his feet…it was his immobilised arm that was causing the problem. Lynne had insisted upon a full sling, clipped professionally behind his neck, so he couldn't undo it himself. After two weeks of obeying orders, he was beginning to get a little tetchy. Not that he wasn't loving having his daughter around. He must have put on half a stone since she'd been here. He smiled to himself, remembering the pie and chips she'd prepared last night.

Once a day, she changed the dressing on his wound, and strapped him up again, told him to take it easy. And, for the most part, he had. At first it had been sheer exhaustion that kept him quiet, but this week, his calm mood had largely been due to the tiring process of trying to understand Laura Hobson. Several times, Lynne had caught him, just staring into space, his mind entirely elsewhere. She'd made a few jokes about dementia, and he'd laughed, and wriggled out of any attempt to explain. She probably thought he was still in shock. Which he was. But not from the almighty cock-up which had left him in hospital. No, this was entirely down to Laura and her disappearing act.

He'd played through the scene many times now, remembering the warmth of her fingers clutching at his, the light that made her hair sparkle. Even with the horse tranquilisers he'd been on, there was no way he'd imagined it. Then Hathaway had arrived, taunting him with a bacon sandwich, and hadn't mentioned it. He'd drifted in and out most of the day, only really waking up properly in the evening when Lynne had arrived. Every time the door opened, he'd wondered if it might be Laura. But then it was was night time again, and nothing. Hathaway hadn't mentioned her, and he hadn't asked. For those first few days, he wasn't sure if he could trust his memory, and he hadn't wanted to be disappointed. But now he was sure. He hoped that he knew why she'd come, why she'd curled up next to him. What he couldn't understand, not yet, was why she'd left.

* * *

It was now a week before Christmas, and Lewis was back at the hospital, to have the stitches in his shoulder removed. He still had to keep the area immobilised for another month at least, but the entry wound was now sufficiently healed. As he sat on the bed, wincing as the nurse pulled the last section of the suture out, he tried to calm himself with the prospect, at long last, of a hot shower. Lynne had been worried about him attending the appointment alone, but he'd insisted. It had felt good to just walk out of the house, entirely under his own steam. He'd been signed off for at least a month, and given the circumstances of his injury, Innocent had all but insisted he take the opportunity to have a proper break. Not that he'd be making a fuss. As he walked back through town, he couldn't resist dropping by the station. Even though he was on leave, there were a couple of reports that had already lain untouched for a fortnight, and he wanted to finish them before he forgot all the details. Nodding at the desk sergeant, he snuck through the side entrance and wandered in the direction of his office. Now that the Met had all slunk back to London, they had reclaimed their old space, and he was grateful to avoid the bustle of the incident room. He pushed open the door, and was unsurprised to find Hathaway in semi-darkness, feet up on his desk, tapping away at his laptop. He had his earphones in, and he practically jumped a foot in the air at the surprise.

"Sorry lad, just needed a few bits of paper…"

Lewis flicked on the main light and Hathaway winced at the brightness,

"Bloody hell, Hathaway, it's like a bat cave in here"

James sat back in his chair, contemplating his boss,

"Hmmm…I do hope you're not going to suggest we get costumes, sir"

Lewis laughed and began to rummage in his desk, a task that was made somewhat more complicated by only have one arm operational.

Hathaway ignored him, and concentrated on his screen. He wouldn't mention it to Lewis, but he was actually working on his supplementary statement for the inquiry, and was trying to describe the preparations for the raid. It had been preying on his mind for days, and somehow the very living, grumpy and sarcastic proof of Lewis's recovery now made the task slightly more bearable. He'd almost forgotten he had company, when Lewis cleared his throat and addressed him casually,

"So, are you going to mention that Laura came to the hospital?"

Shit. He looked up and was intrigued to see Lewis look slightly amused. He quickly considered his options.

"I'm not sure. She explicitly asked me not to"

Lewis pursed his lips and leant back against the desk,

"Hmm. Did she say why?"

Hathaway silently closed his laptop and, furrowing his brows, seemed to analyse the question carefully,

"No, sir, she didn't. I rather think she wasn't sure herself."

Lewis smiled slightly again, and unconsciously rubbed the tightness in his bound shoulder,

"Curioser and curioser"

He turned and opened up the filing cabinet, extracting a couple of manila folders. Hathaway watched him carefully, unsure whether the subject was closed. Lewis seemed engrossed in the contents of the document,

"How did you know?"

Lewis didn't look up, but merely smiled to himself,

"Poor lass fell asleep on me…"

Hathaway grinned, and wondered if Laura had realised how much of a schoolgirl error she'd made,

"You too, eh?"

They each went back to their work, and a companionable silence stretched out. Lewis knew better than to log into his computer - Innocent would shoot him herself if she had any evidence he was back in the office - so he quickly collected all the files he needed and sliding them under his injured arm, headed towards the door.

"You should call her"

He looked at his partner, and for once was in total agreement. He nodded, and raised his brow,

"Don't worry, lad, I plan to"

* * *

He took the long way home, making the most of the fresh air and the pale winter sunshine. The students had all gone home, and the river path was blissfully free of bikes and tourists. In spite of the dull ache in his shoulder, no doubt the result of having overdone thing today, Robbie was feeling buoyant. She had been there. She had been confused by something. Even bloody Hathaway had picked up on something awry. But why didn't she stay? Why doesn't she ever stay? He was trained to look for patterns of behaviour, but, he was rapidly realising, he'd entirely misunderstood Laura. Every time they got close, she pulled back, literally or metaphorically. He'd always assumed it was because she saw through him, saw his feelings, and didn't return them. But since August he'd hoped for more. A scull slide past, the rower cutting through the water with rhythmic strokes. She was scared of something, but what?

* * *

Finally, Laura had finished all her interviews and, after a long, three-hour discussion with the other Fellows, they had decided which 8 students would be offered places for the following year. It had been a draining task, but she was pleased to have been involved. They were all so young, so full of ambition. She yawned loudly, wondering if she might knock off early today. The lab was practically empty, with most colleagues having already headed home for the holidays. Admitting defeat, she stuffed her laptop in her bag and put on her coat. She still hadn't sorted out what she was doing for Christmas. Apparently College held a lunch on Christmas Day, for some of the elderly resident Fellows, but it was such a depressing thought, she'd already decided that, if it came to it, she'd eat macaroni cheese in front of the tv rather than submit to that.

She had originally planned to go away somewhere more exotic. Florence had long been on her list of places to visit, and a conversation with an Italian biophysicist last month had prompted her to look at a few places online. But work had been crazy, and she'd never got around to booking it. In any case, who wanted to travel at Christmas? The thought of braving Stansted three days before the holidays made her a little queasy. As she wandered down Trumpington street, though, her phone began to ring. Surprised, she answered immediately,

"Oh, hello stranger"

Ellen giggled,

"I know, I know, is this a good time?"

"Yes…Indeed, I think you might actually be psychic. I was planning to call you this evening"

They hadn't spoken for several weeks, due to the arrival of a new boyfriend. Not that Laura had minded.

"Great! Sorry for abandoning you, sweetie"

Laura smiled indulgently,

"I'm used to it. So tell me, are we keeping Casanova or are you joining me on the dark side again?"

As she walked across Coe Fen Laura listened in bemused silence as Ellen explained in graphic terms why the relationship had been doomed from the start, how all men were fundamentally flawed, and that life would be better if women simply ignored them.

"I've been telling you that for years, Ellen"

Her friend sighed loudly,

"Listen, how about us sad old hags spent Christmas together, getting disgracefully drunk and watching re-runs of Sherlock?"

"Still stuck on that inappropriately young detective?"

"I know, I know…least he's not an inappropriately old detective"

Laura smiled to herself, deciding to be charitable and let her score one for once. In any case, she was already calculating the carnage that would be wreaked upon her liver after a week with Ellen,

"Sounds perfect, I can't wait"

* * *

A/N - Just a little head's up that I will be taking a holiday for a fortnight, starting Monday. I will endeavour to get a few more chapters up before then, but I really don't want to rush the ending of this. We are nearly on the home straight…but you might have to be a little patient. Sadly, where I'm going on holiday, there will be no internet!? Oh dear lord…


	18. Chapter 18

"Earth to Dad?"

He was sat on the edge of his bed, staring into space, a sweater partly folded across his knee,

"Sorry pet, I was miles away"

Lynne smiled indulgently, and took the bundle from his lap. She folded it more effectively, before placing it in the bag next to him.

"I asked if you wanted a hand with your packing?"

"Nah, you're alright. I'm getting pretty good at doing everything with just the one"

She patted his good arm and sat down next to him on the duvet,

"Are you alright, though, Dad? You seem a bit distracted again"

Lewis smiled, and tried to buck himself up,

"I'm fine. Just got a lot on my mind, that's all"

She waited, hopeful he might elaborate, but he got up and started choosing some socks from the open drawer,

"Anything I can help with? Problem shared, and all that…"

He sighed, and threw a couple of pairs in the direction of the bag, smiling to himself as she picked them back out and rolled them up properly. She was so like her mother sometimes…

"Seriously, pet, I dunno, maybe?"

"Try me"

He looked at her, still unsure whether he wanted to do this. But then again, he'd been thinking about it for what felt like weeks now, and he was really no closer to having any idea about how he should handle things. Handle her. Closing the drawer he walked back to the bed and sat down,

"Remember when you were 19, came back from Uni for Easter, and that tosser dumped you, just before your first year exams?"

Lynne groaned at the memory,

"Yup…total arsehole. Tim Scott. Slept with my flatmate"

"That's the one"

"Wait…do I want to hear this?"

Suddenly the prospect of discussing her father's sex life hit her.

"Don't worry, pet, this is just context"

"OK…"

"Anyway, you came home and you wouldn't talk to your mam about it."

"…and we ended up at the bottom of the garden drinking beer and chain-smoking, I remember. She was furious for ages about that."

"Aye, and I filled you in on the mysteries of the teenage male brain"

"I remember…it was most enlightening"

He paused, carefully choosing his next words,

"Well, I might need you to repay the favour"

"Please tell me you're not into teenage boys, Dad…"

He laughed and the tension was immediately broken,

"Yeah, very funny… No. Try fifty year old women who seem to do a disappearing act every time you get close to them"

"Would these women be of the blonde, diminutive and old friend variety?"

"No comment"

She grinned, and put her arm around her Dad's shoulder,

"OK, I'll do my best…spill"

* * *

An hour later, Lewis was feeling much better. Nervous, certainly, and a bit worried, but much better. Lynne was probably right. Laura was unsure about what a relationship would mean for them both, how it would change things. All the things that defined her, her work, her home, her friends would undergo a subtle change if they combined forces, and that idea scared her. The important thing was not to rush her. Lynne was convinced that her coming to Oxford had been a good sign. When he mentioned that she hadn't stayed around, Lynne simply countered that she probably didn't know what to say. She couldn't exactly play the concerned girlfriend when she was no such thing. Robbie carefully placed his holdall in the boot of the car, and began to reorganise the boxes of presents. Lynne might well be a portal into the mysteries of the female brain, but she was particularly rubbish at packing a car.

"Dad, don't you start lifting any of those things"

He grinned. Busted.

"Fine. I'll just get in, shall I?"

"That would be wise. I'll only be five minutes"

He got himself comfortable in the passenger seat and pulled out his phone. Keep it casual, Lynne had suggested, don't make her feel awkward. But show her that you care about her. Because, of course, that was such a simple thing to do…bollocks.

* * *

Laura was cleaning the downstairs bathroom when her phone signaled the arrival of a text. She was nearly finished, and, brushing her fringe off her face with her forearm, concentrated on the limescale at the back of the bath for another five minutes. Job done, she stripped off her gloves and wandered back through to the kitchen, and flicked the kettle on. Remembering the text, she wondered what James had to say today,

'Thank you for staying with me that night, it means a lot. You mean a lot. R'

She sat down heavily, completely confused. How the hell…? She stared at the phone accusingly. The kettle boiled and she slowly made herself a mug of tea. For a moment she considered calling Hathaway and tearing a strip off him, but decided against it. She wasn't in the mood. She read the text again. It really didn't sound like Robbie at all, and she was at a loss to what it might mean. But it was nice to hear from him. A few times, she'd thought of ringing, but she honestly had no idea what, beyond the obvious pleasantries, she might have said. Casual, Hobson, play it casual,

'You're welcome. And tell Hathaway he's a sneak'

Within a minute, the reply arrived,

'Not Hathaway's fault that you snore'

Shit. She took a long sip of her tea and winced as it scalded her tongue. So much for keeping things simple,

'I do not'

It was ridiculous, but she couldn't help herself.

'I know, pet. But thank you anyway'

'How are you?'

'I'm fine. Getting better. Going up North for Christmas :)'

'Good. Look after yourself, old man. Lx'

She put the phone down on the table and wondered what the hell had just happened. Three weeks of torturing herself and they'd slipped back into their easy banter. It was bizarre. She looked at the phone again, and was overwhelmed by how much she wanted to call him, to hear his voice. The feeling was almost physical. She took another deep breath, and resolved that this weekend she would talk things through with Ellen again. As much as she didn't like to admit it, there were times when Ellen's professional insight was extremely valuable. And the longer this situation went on, whatever it was, the more she needed some advice. She wouldn't enjoy it one iota, but this was getting ridiculous.

She drained her cup of tea and looked again at the clock. She'd planned to travel late, in the vain hope that the traffic on the A14 might have eased, but now she was impatient to get going. Her things were all packed, and there were only the fresh things in the fridge to put in the car. The phone beeped again, and she smiled to herself, knowing already that he wouldn't let it rest,

'Less of the 'old man' please. That's DI Lewis, to you, young lady'

He was flirting with her. Not in a romantic way, of course, just their usual banter. And after these last few weeks of worry, not knowing how to talk to him, it felt good. It felt normal. She smirked, knowing exactly what she was expected to reply,

'Yes, sir'


	19. Chapter 19

A/N - Quick note - Laura receives texts during this chapter, which I have included - they are in inverted commas (''), whereas dialogue is in scare quotes (""). Hope the formatting won't be too confusing! Also, as the liquor flows, there will be swearing. Oh come on, you know it's entirely in character... ;)

* * *

The next few days passed quickly for Laura. It was wonderful to be out in the country again, by the coast, and quite frankly, she was enjoying the company. It only really struck her now how isolated she'd actually felt in Cambridge. The work had been interesting, her colleagues supportive, but they were simply that, colleagues. Not once had she invited any of them over for dinner, and the weekends had stretched out endlessly with only her own company for distraction. To begin with it had been bliss, a kind of reset button for her sanity, but lately it had been lonely. As much as she needed her space and time with her own thoughts, Laura was a social being who enjoyed company, who wanted to be part of a team. Spending time with one of her oldest friends was gently reminding her of that fact, and she was already beginning to feel apprehensive about the Lent term.

It was Christmas eve, and although neither of them particularly subscribed to religion and the conventional trappings of the festival, both women were sticklers for tradition. Their own traditions, that is. Which is why Laura was fixing a pair of slightly battered comedy antlers to her head as Ellen brought in the drinks tray. Both of them had festive headgear - Ellen was sporting a rather jaunty elf hat - and both of them would be wearing them for the duration of the evening. It was the rule. They'd already eaten a scratch meal of Pringles, sausage rolls and mince pies, and were preparing themselves for a marathon session in front of the tv. Ellen gingerly set the tray down, bottles clinking ominously.

"What's your poison then, Hobson?"

Laura pretended to survey the vast array of options, before simply grabbing the bottle of whisky and a glass.

"Typical"

Ellen proceeded to concoct some bizarre mixture of cranberry juice, vodka, and something unidentifiable. Looking up from her task, preparing to open the little paper umbrella with a dramatic flourish, she was annoyed to see that, once again, Laura was reading something on her phone.

'In case I'm too pissed tomorrow, happy Christmas x'

Her friend smiled, shook her head a little, and looked up guiltily. Ellen grinned and waggled her eyebrows as she completed her drink.

"What the hell is that?"

"I call it my Christmas Surprise"

Laura grinned,

"The only surprise will be if I don't have to hold you over the toilet later"

Ellen shook her head, trying not to laugh,

"Classy, very classy"

As Ellen made herself comfortable on the sofa, she noticed that Laura was sending a reply. Taking a sip of her drink, she relaxed back into the cushions.

'You shouldn't be drinking with all the pills I'm sure you're still taking for your shoulder'

Laura poured herself a small measure of whisky and added a splash of ginger wine. Ellen was fumbling with the remote, trying to navigate the channel menu, when Laura's phone buzzed again.

'Aw, you're no fun'

In the corner of her eye, Ellen could see the grin spreading across Laura's face as she surreptitiously keyed in a response,

'And this is something you've only just worked out?'

As she pressed send, Ellen decided that she couldn't resist any longer,

"Who's the text from? Someone cute?"

"Just Robbie…"

"Ah, yes, 'just Robbie'… I thought you were giving him a wide berth"

"Hmm…"

Laura took another sip of her drink and grabbed a handful of popcorn from the bowl.

"Not worked out how you planned?"

Neither took their eyes off the screen as Ellen scrolled through the options.

"Not exactly"

She found the box-set that she wanted and moved the cursor to select it,

"Want to talk about it?"

Laura set her glass down carefully on the side table and curled her feet up under her,

"Not sure, can't decide"

* * *

After two hours of the delights of Benedict Cumberbatch, Laura was beginning to wonder if she might suggest something else. Not that she didn't appreciate the clever editing and the quality acting…it was just that she'd seen all of them before and she really didn't enjoy watching things again. Ellen was onto her second Christmas Surprise, and appeared to be engrossed.

"I've been offered a full time position in Cambridge"

Normally interruptions wouldn't be permitted, but she timed it during a scene where the object of Ellen's not-entirely-appropriate affection was off-screen, and it did the trick. Her head swivveled round and she almost spilled her cocktail,

"That's great!"

Laura smiled back weakly, and laid her head against the cushion,

"But wait, is that what you want?"

She shook her head slightly, and closed her eyes,

"I don't think so. I've been weighing it up for a few weeks now, and I'm torn. But no, I think I want to be back in Oxford"

"With him?"

Her eyes shot open. She took a long breath, and considered her response carefully,

"It might surprise you to hear that it's more in spite of him, than because of."

Ellen swirled the ruby-coloured concoction round her glass and raised an eyebrow. She was always careful not to probe Laura too obviously, knowing from experience that it almost always had the opposite effect. So she just waited.

"I miss forensics, the cases, believe it or not, even the fieldwork"

Ellen nodded and drained her glass,

"And do you miss him?"

"Yes, of course"

Both of them were surprised by the speed of Laura's response, and for a moment it just hung between them. The tv played on in the background, and, distracted, Ellen grabbed the remote to pause the action. She hadn't planned to talk to Laura about Robbie at all this weekend, especially not half-cut on Christmas eve, but it seemed like she wanted to talk. As much as Laura ever wanted to talk.

"Have you told him?"

Laura looked slightly disgusted, and snapped at her,

"And why on earth would I want to do that?"

Again, the therapist was thankful for her years of experience. For the calm certainty that just waiting in silence would have its inevitable effect.

"He's a friend, Ellen. The sooner I get that into my stupid head the better."

Ellen grinned warmly, and relaxing back into the sofa, she stretched an arm out to run her fingers through Laura's hair, dislodging her antlers,

"We both know that there is absolutely nothing stupid about your head"

Laura sighed and leant back into the affectionate touch. She was tired, tired of it all, and her voice betrayed this,

"Then why can't I just accept it?"

"Honestly?"

Their eyes met again, and Ellen was concerned to see tears of sheer frustration beginning to form.

"Please…I'm all out of answers here"

Ellen sat up, and folded her hands together. She was painfully aware of the risks in offering professional advice to friends, and she generally tried to avoid it. But Laura had always been something of an exception. After Ligeia's death, the attack, and the traumatic aftermath as she'd struggled to return to work, Ellen had tried to offer Laura support. She'd advised as best she could, but now, she had to admit, she was beginning to wonder if she'd been too quick to judge the relationship with Lewis. If three months apart had made no difference whatsoever, then, well…

"You can't accept it, either because you aren't ready to do so, or because fundamentally you know that you are wrong"

Laura was watching her warily, and didn't look impressed,

"And seeing as you have tested the first hypothesis quite effectively for the past three months, I wonder if you might now consider the second?"

Laura snorted and reached for her glass,

"You're going to have to put that in plain English, not all of us have a PhD in Lacanian psychobabble"

Ellen sighed dramatically, grabbed the bottle from the table, and poured her friend another finger of whisky,

"You've tried pretending you can forget him, and you've failed. Now you have to grow some, and actually ask the poor bastard how he feels about you"

Laura downed the drink in one, wincing as the smooth fire burnt her throat.

"Unless you've done that already, of course…"

Laura looked down at her hands, the fine crystal of the glass glinting in the candlelight. To her credit, Ellen was silent. She picked up the remote and began exploring the online menu for something a little more lighthearted.

"But what if…?"

She smiled, and reached over to clasp one of Laura's hands,

"If he doesn't feel the same? Then, sweetheart, I guarantee that then you will move on. You won't have a choice. Wounded pride is a most effective tool for mending a broken heart"

Ellen scrolled down the planner and was pleased to find series one of Absolutely Fabulous.

"Fucking hell"

There was something about Laura's clipped tone that always made it hilarious when she swore, and this time was no exception. Pressing play, Ellen ditched the remote in favour of the whisky bottle and topped up Laura's glass,

"Yup, that's the best damn description of love and relationships I've ever heard…"


	20. Chapter 20

On Christmas morning, Robbie woke up early. Still a kid at heart, he padded down the stairs and started to make breakfast. He was getting good at this one-handed lark, but he relished a few minutes with both limbs before his daughter got up and strapped him up for the day. It wasn't that he was putting any real weight on the injury - he wasn't that stupid - but it was bliss to have the freedom to move naturally. Carefully he made toast and a cup of tea, before retreating to the living room sofa. The tree was a monstrosity of pinks, purples and silver tinsel. Lynne had always gone in for decorations in a big way, and this year was no exception. Not that he minded. They had brought all the presents down the evening before, and they were now all lying there ready for opening. There hadn't been much time for shopping in recent weeks - and he was certainly a last-minute kind of guy - but Amazon had done him proud and he was looking forward to seeing their faces when they opened their gifts. He took a sip of tea and relaxed into the cushions. Maybe he'd call Laura this evening? If he could slip out into the garden later, find a quiet moment…just to wish her a happy Christmas. He smiled to himself. Yes, if he could find a quiet moment, he'd call her.

* * *

Laura and Ellen got up late on Christmas morning. They had no intention of heading to church, and so took the opportunity to sleep off some of the previous night's excesses. Ellen was pottering around the kitchen, feeding the dogs, clearing the dishes, and frying up some bacon on the Aga, when Laura finally emerged. Not that she'd been sleeping. Although she'd fallen asleep the moment her head hit the pillow, Laura had woken around eight, and had spent nearly the next two hours staring at the patterns on her curtains. As always, they'd drunk a little too much last night, but not enough that she couldn't remember the gist of Ellen's observations. Now, in the cold light of day, she was trying to work through what it all meant. Last night, it had felt like suddenly things had begun to make sense, that she could talk to him about her feelings, but now she felt almost sick with nerves. She'd pulled the duvet up tight around her and forced herself to think through what she might say, how she might ask. It was a technique she'd learned early in her training. Visualising the scenario, testing each option before choosing, anticipating the outcome. Often, during dissection, there was only one shot at moving something, of seeing what she needed to see, and it was essential to consider a cut from all perspectives before making it. And that was exactly how the prospect of talking to Robbie felt, like a cut.

Eventually she made herself get up. Ellen knew her too well, and as the tempting scent of bacon began to float up to her room, she understood the implicit signal. It was Christmas morning, and she needed to pull herself together.

* * *

They skipped lunch, planning to eat their main meal in the evening, and opted to take a long walk along the beach. It was chilly, and the wind was whipping in from the North Sea. Ellen had wrapped herself in a thick woollen scarf and mittens, but Laura insisted on just wearing her Barbour jacket and some boots. She wanted to feel the cold today. They hardly talked, preferring the roar of the waves, and Laura appreciated the chance to think. Ellen had noticed that she was subdued, but she'd decided to leave things be for the moment. She too had been pondering the conversation of the previous night and she was unsure about how Laura would now choose to react. In some ways, silence and contemplation were good signs. They arrived back at the cottage just after four, and the darkness was already beginning to fall. As always, the village was exceptionally quiet, with only the distant crash of waves. They'd chatted extensively about Ellen's latest conquest and the seemingly inevitable crash and burn, and Laura was now beginning to look forward to the evening ahead. Walking always soothed her frayed nerves, and even though she still had no idea what to do about the situation with Robbie, she could put it to the back of her mind for a few hours.

* * *

Christmas dinner was not exactly traditional, but it was delicious. Together they had prepared a Peking duck, which had been roasting in the Aga overnight, and now they ate it with egg fried rice and an amazing array of Chinese greens that Ellen had picked up in Soho before she left London. As always, they had made far too much, and by seven thirty, they'd admitted defeat and retreated to the living room with a bottle of wine and some chocolates. Glancing at the clock, Ellen excused herself to call her elderly mother. They didn't get on especially well, and the old lady always spent Christmas with her son, Ellen's half-brother, but she was family, so Ellen made the effort. Left alone, Laura poured a glass of wine and stared into the fire. What was Robbie doing now? She imagined him surrounded by his family, probably ten sheets to the wind and insisting on watching another Bond movie. She smiled to herself. It was a nice image.

Ellen's call was short, and she walked back into the room, hand outstretched for the waiting wine glass. Laura grinned and obeyed,

"That bad?"

Ellen rolled her eyes and took a long sip,

"Her usual charming self"

She sighed loudly and slumped down next to her friend. They were both a little sleepy from dinner and the fire was mesmerising. The wind had picked up outside and it pulled the flames upwards. A log crackled loudly, sending a spiral of glowing embers up the chimney.

"I've been an idiot, haven't I?"

Ellen looked at her curiously,

"Oh, you're actually not joking, are you?"

Laura shook her head, and sipped her wine. She didn't need to explain to what she was referring.

"So this is serious? In spite of everything he's put you through?"

Laura nodded slowly, her eyes never leaving the flames,

"Yes…though the more I think about it, it's _because_ of everything, not in spite of"

"Deep…"

There was a playful sarcasm in Ellen's voice, for which she earned a gentle thump on her arm,

"Oh sod off."

They shared a grin, and Laura leaned forward, her elbows coming to rest on her knees,

"Do you really think there is be a chance that he might feel the same?"

Ellen swirled the wine in her glass, for a moment pondering the myriad ways she might answer that question. But Laura always over-thought everything, so finally she opted for the simplest,

"Yes"

Laura smiled wryly, obviously still not entirely convinced,

"Why didn't I ask you that sooner?"

Ellen smirked and threw an arm around her shoulders,

"I value our friendship, so I'm not going to answer that"

Laura relaxed back into the embrace and sipped her wine. The wind whipped up loudly outside, and the window frame rattled slightly.

"So what's your plan?"

"Huh?"

"You always have a plan, Laura, don't pretend otherwise"

She shrugged and set her glass back on the table. Already, her shoulders had tensed, and Ellen wondered if she should have left it.

"I don't know. I'm still struggling to accept that I could be so phenomenally stupid. What if you're wrong?"

Even though she was certain that she wasn't, Ellen was not about to start crowing victory. Not yet. It wasn't going to help. And anyway, it had taken these two nearly ten years to even get to this stage, god knows how long this next step might take.

"Look, you don't even need to lay your heart on the line. Just ask him how he feels about you, face to face, see what he says"

Laura snorted,

"You make that sound so easy"

Ellen curled her feet up under her and looked serious,

"It is. But people don't do it. I've built an entire career on telling people to just bloody talk to their partners."

Laura looked thoughtful,

"OK, so…"

"So pick up the sodding phone and just call him. Do it now. Just don't get the giggles…"

She'd only meant it half-seriously, the occasion and the wine boosting her confidence, but Laura wasn't laughing. Her eyes were full of fear, but there was also a glint of determination,

"I can't do it with you sat there listening"

Ellen beamed, and patted her on the hand,

"OK, I'm going to go and put my pyjamas on. I'll be fifteen minutes. If you haven't done it by then, I'll make the call myself"

Trying to hide her astonishment, Ellen walked to the hallway and tossed her the cordless phone. She tried to look casual as she smiled encouragingly, and made a quick exit.

* * *

As the door closed, Laura poured herself another glass of wine. She had absolutely no idea why she was about to do this, but she'd made up her mind. Pulling out her mobile, she scrolled through to his number, and carefully keyed it into the handset. He answered after three rings,

"Hi Robbie, it's Laura"

There was a lot of background noise, then it was suddenly quieter,

"Hello, pet, what a nice surprise, how are you?"

"I'm good…thanks."

She cringed. This was probably the worst idea she'd ever had.

"Are you phoning to check I'm not half-cut?"

He sounded relaxed, amused, and she tried to settle her racing mind,

"No, and to be entirely honest, I'm not sure that I'm in a position to judge"

He chuckled and she took a shaky breath,

"Been on the whisky, have we?"

"Nope, the champagne, the wine, and, coming up next, some rather ancient and expensive port, I fear"

"Ouch, you'll feel that one in the morning…"

She smiled and closed her eyes, trying to keep her voice steady,

"We need to talk, Robbie"

"OK, shoot…"

She hesitated, but pressed on,

"Not now...properly. I still want to talk to you about some things."

She could hear voices in the background again, and again she doubted whether this was the right thing.

"OK, just tell me when, and I'll endeavour not to get shot this time"

She laughed, but it rang a little hollow, that joke still a little too close to home,

"That would be appreciated"

There was another pause, and she set her glass back on the table,

"I'd really like to see you, when are you back in Oxford?"

"Not sure, really, Lynne's pretty much got me hostage…but listen, I could come down on the train to Cambridge."

She swallowed quickly, suddenly wrong-footed,

"Are you sure? It's a long way to travel on your own. Would you be ok?"

For a moment, she wasn't sure what she wanted his answer to be.

"I'll be fine. Just tell me where and when, and I'll be there"

She stared at the fire, finally, for the first time in months, actually listening to his words. To what he was really saying. That he would be there. She blinked, suddenly uncertain of what to say.

"You still there?"

"Yes,I'm back on Tuesday, any time from then."

She said it quickly, almost tempting him not to hear.

"Wednesday night, then. Have you got a spare room I could borrow? Not sure my shoulder's up to the sofa yet…"

She smiled, trust him to think of the practicalities. Silently she thanked whatever foresight had made her rent a house with a spare bedroom,

"Of course. Send me a text when you know when you're arriving, I'll pick you up from the station"

"Perfect"

"OK"

She swallowed again, painfully aware of how awkward this must all sound.

"Is that everything, pet?"

"I think so. Sorry…you must think I'm mental, calling you like this"

He chuckled warmly, and she loved him for it, smiling herself,

"I'm thinking nothing of the sort. You're the least crazy person I know."

"Thanks, I think?"

"Go and enjoy the rest of your evening, pet…don't drink too much port, you'll regret it tomorrow"

"OK...thanks...bye"

She pressed the button on the phone, and sat staring at it accusingly. Well that had been…awkward. She sighed, wondering exactly what might just have happened. There was a creak, and the door swung open,

"I think I'd declare that a success…"

She swung round, entirely unsurprised to find a brazen-faced Ellen grinning broadly,

"You bitch, you were listening all the time!"

"I can't believe you assumed I wouldn't!"

They laughed, and Ellen plonked herself down.

"So, he's coming to see you"

"Apparently so"

They exchanged a look, and Laura smiled nervously.

"Just get him drunk and sleep with him"

She shook her head and set the phone back on the table,

"I will do no such thing"

Ellen giggled and poured herself a glass of wine,

"OK, get yourself drunk, and talk to him"

Laura hesitated, clearly contemplating the prospect and nodded guiltily,

"That's probably more likely…"

* * *

It was late, and Robbie was sat alone in front of the glowing screen, watching the final scenes of _Goldfinger_. It wasn't his favourite, but it was an annual tradition, and it was what was on. Lynne and the boys had gone to bed several hours ago, and he was enjoying the peace and quiet. As much as Christmas was fun, it was exhausting. And that was without a certain Laura Hobson ringing you in the middle of dinner and inviting you to stay over. He took a small sip from the extremely expensive whisky he'd poured. It wasn't often that he indulged these days, but it seemed like the right occasion. He still hadn't entirely decided what to make of Laura's call, but, for once, he had decided not to worry. Lynne had assured him that this was an excellent sign, and that he should simply do what Laura asked. And so he would.

* * *

A/N - OK my lovelies, this is where I'm going to have to leave you hanging. I'm off tomorrow, and will be back in a fortnight. I hope to post relatively quickly once I'm back, so don't worry. Please let me know what you think - I love reading your reviews! :)


	21. Chapter 21

Snow had fallen overnight, and as the train cut through the Yorkshire countryside, Lewis gazed out of the window. He rarely got the opportunity to travel by train these days, and he was enjoying the novelty. The trip was straightforward really, only a couple of hours between Newcastle and Peterborough, a quick change and then another hour to Cambridge. Amazing. When he'd offered to visit, he had imagined a day-long trek, probably setting off at the crack of dawn. To be entirely honest, he hadn't really thought at all about the practicalities. But in the end he'd been able to stay at Lynne's for lunch, and he would still be with Laura by dinner. Not that he organised his day around meals. Of course not...

The carriage was quiet, and without all the technological gadgetry that seemed a requirement for travel these days, he relaxed back into his seat and watched the world slide by. Christmas had been busy, and he couldn't deny that he was tired. But it was a pleasant kind of tiredness, brought on by activity and fun, rather than the groggy sleepiness of restless nights and pain. He was surprised how calm he felt. How completely certain he was that he was doing the right thing in going to visit Laura. Lynne had been quick to remind him that he couldn't expect Laura to feel comfortable around him immediately, that it would take time for her to open up, but there was such relief in feeling that, finally, he might understand her. Lynne could be wrong, they might both be, but the more he thought about Laura, their friendship, her steady support over the years, the more things made sense. When they had kissed - and there was no way, in spite of her protests to the contrary, that he would accept it didn't happen - it had been perfect. She'd felt it too, he was sure of that. There had been tears in her eyes when she had stepped away from him. He gazed out over the snowy countryside sliding by, and sighed, his breath misting against the chilled window of the train. They'd spoken briefly the night before, just to confirm details. Laura had seemed subdued, but he'd dismissed it as tiredness. Lynne had driven him to the station after lunch, and had reminded him again that he shouldn't push Laura into talking until she was ready. He certainly wasn't an expert in the ways of women, but it seemed like good advice. But unlike Lynne, he knew Laura, and sooner or later they would have to talk. And talking wasn't exactly their forte. He closed his eyes and resting his head against the window, he tried to remember the feeling of her cheek pressed against his hand, her fingers curled around his.

* * *

Laura was doing an excellent impression of tidying the house. Rather uncharacteristically she'd overslept and the whole morning had felt like she was trying to catch up with herself, even though there was really nothing she needed to do. For the hundredth time since Christmas Day, she was questioning whether this was a good idea. Not just the inviting him to stay, but the attempting to talk to him about her feelings. To begin with she had been buoyed up by Ellen's breezy enthusiasm, her optimistic assertions that he probably felt the same. It had felt good to share her excitement, to hope. But that feeling of hope had quickly slid into an anxious knot in her stomach, not only at the prospect of speaking so frankly, but at the fear he might not return her feelings. She simply couldn't humiliate herself like that. Not after all this time. Last night she'd nearly changed her mind, nearly told him not to come, but rather worryingly, she had found that she couldn't do that either.

She had put fresh sheets on the spare bed, was now pondering whether he'd need an extra pillow. Carefully, she folded a heavy woolen blanket, setting it at the foot of the bed. It was still very cold, and although there was no further snow predicted, it was unlikely that it would reach many degrees above freezing. The fire was on downstairs, and compared to Ellen's igloo of a house, it was cozy. She adjusted the curtain tie and moved the table lamp to a position closer to the bed. And then, after consideration, she moved it back to its original position. She looked at her watch and exhaled in frustration. Only just one o'clock. He'd barely have started his journey.

* * *

Half an hour later - and the bathroom now so spotless it was a risk to eyesight - she was sat at the large oak kitchen table, with a pile of notes and a steaming mug of tea. The kitchen was the coldest room in the house, but she often found herself gravitating to work here. The chill focused the mind. She hadn't really planned to work today, but recognising the need for distraction and the tension already building across her shoulders, she gave in to the temptation. The paper was important, her principle contribution to the project really, and she was determined that it was something to be proud of. Now that she had decided not to extend her contract past April, it somehow felt more important to make this count, to finish on a high note and leave her colleagues in a good position. She smiled to herself and took a sip of coffee. She knew she was putting herself under pressure, but that was fine. She liked this kind of challenge, she relished it. Their results were very suggestive, and the initial hypotheses of the investigation had been proved sound.

* * *

For a couple of hours she worked solidly, actually enjoying the writing for once. But by three thirty it was starting to get dark and the screen was beginning to strain her eyes. Taking off her glasses, she rubbed the bridge of her nose and yawned loudly. She bashed out the last few lines of a paragraph and saved her work. The distraction had worked well, and although she felt a bit dizzy, having skipped lunch, she was feeling less tense. Not that she could eat anything right now. The very thought of it made her feel strange. But they would have to have dinner, and that was something that she could start on now. Her phone buzzed, and she wondered if it might be Ellen. They'd had a quick chat the previous morning, but more or less she'd escaped any last minute lectures. Picking up the phone though, she smiled. Robbie.

'All good, arrive at 6.32, R'.

It was typical of his messages, it was short and to the point. There was something endearing about the way he kept things simple. She took a deep breath, and remembered what she'd promised herself this morning: one step at a time. It was nearly four, and she'd need to leave by six to be certain of arriving in time. Opening the fridge door, she began to extract all the various ingredients she'd need…

* * *

At Peterborough he had to change, and he hauled himself and his rucksack off the train. It was bloody freezing, the wind whipping across the platforms, and he turned the collar up on his coat. It seemed an age since he'd been outside in the elements, and he was getting soft. As much as his cheeks were now chilled and reddened though, he smiled to himself. It felt good to be alive. His shoulder was beginning to protest, and he used his good arm to rub around the taut muscles. Lynne had insisted on binding him up again, presuming, quite rightly as it turned out, that he'd overdo it without realising it. But the strapping was tight and he was tired. Fifteen icy minutes later, the Cambridge train pulled into the station he gritted his teeth and lifted his bag up into the carriage.

* * *

The traffic at Cambridge station was, as always, a disaster. If she hadn't been used to it, and hadn't left ten minutes earlier than was strictly necessary, Laura would have been frustrated. For the second time she drove the loop around the roundabout and eyed the station exit. There wasn't any decent parking - there wasn't any parking at all - so she'd told him to stand by the main door and she'd just have to pull over. She glanced at the clock on the dashboard and realised that she had another three minutes until his train arrived. She sighed and made another circuit of the station.

On the fourth trip around, she spotted him, and pulled over quickly. His injured arm was still strapped up, and he seemed to be holding a large rucksack in his free hand. Momentarily, she was struck by his strength, and wondered how someone so obviously injured could look so robust. Not that she planned to tell him that. She opened the door and dashed out, thankful for a quick break in the traffic,

"What the hell are you doing, hauling that load around?"

He smiled broadly and lifted the bag into her waiting arms, trying not to smirk too obviously when she gasped at its weight.

"Just jump in, won't be a sec"

He obeyed, and she slammed the boot shut.

She'd slipped into the car quickly, and had barely glanced at him before fastening her seatbelt and pulling out into the steady stream of cars. He sat quietly, watching her change gears smoothly, negotiating several junctions, and he relaxed back into his seat. Her eyes were on the road, and he let his gaze linger over her face. She looked well. A little tired maybe, thinner, the angles of her cheekbones a little more pronounced. She'd grown her hair longer these past few months - he'd remembered that correctly - and it suited her. He closed his eyes for a second and took a long, steady breath, smiling as he caught the familiar scent of her perfume.

"It's great to see you, pet"

They reached a set of traffic lights, and as she eased on the handbrake, she turned and smiled at him, their eyes meeting properly. It was a small smile, the slight tautness across her features remained, but she looked relieved,

"It's good to see you too"

* * *

A/N - Thanks for being patient with me! I'm back now. Stupidly busy with work (don't ever take a holiday!), so won't be able to post daily, but should get some more up at the weekend :)


	22. Chapter 22

Within ten minutes, they had pulled up outside Laura's house. Once again, she insisted on carrying his bag in, dumping it down at the foot of the stairs. They had spoken barely a few words in the car, nothing beyond the obvious niceties about his journey and he was a little stumped about how to proceed. By the time he had carefully peeled off his coat and hung it behind the front door, Laura had disappeared down the corridor. He smiled to himself, and shook his head. She was nervous, there was no getting around it, and he wasn't entirely sure what to say. Lynne had been firm in her advice though - be patient, don't push her - and not for the first time, he was thankful for some guidance. Slipping off his shoes, he followed Laura into the kitchen.

"Tea?"

He smiled and nodded, and immediately she set about filling the kettle, finding mugs. He pretended to focus on the design of the kitchen. It was nice…not as nice as her cottage in Oxford, but he could see why she'd chosen it. Pale blue paintwork, oak surfaces, plenty of chrome. Entirely Laura. He tried not to snigger at his own crap joke. There was a pile of papers on one of the counters, and he tried to make conversation,

"Been busy?"

She turned and looked at him, not quite understanding. He nodded in the direction of the pile and she smiled,

"Yep, been trying to finish drafting a paper. I actually got quite a lot done today"

"Great, well done"

The kettle pinged, and she turned back to her task. He watched her move, all the while resisting the temptation to step up behind her, to wrap his arms around her waist. Trust Laura to be wearing cashmere. He shivered and gratefully took the steaming mug she was proffering,

"Thanks. Bit nippy in here, isn't it?"

She shrugged, and took a big sip of her scalding tea,

"Never thought I'd hear a tough Northerner like you say something like that…"

He grinned and tried to sip his tea, wincing as he burnt his tongue,

"I'm getting soft in my old age"

She smiled back and nodded in the direction of the hallway,

"There's a fire in the other room, shall we?"

He followed her through, and by the time he'd set his mug down on the coffee table, she was already crouched next to the fire.

"I'm sorry, I meant to do this earlier… I'll need to put the heater on in the bathroom too…"

She was distracted, talking to herself really, as she stacked up some kindling in the fire.

"Laura…it's just me"

She looked over her shoulder at him and smiled weakly, before returning to her task. He sipped his tea and watched her tend the growing fire. She'd chosen to sit cross-legged on the rug, and was expertly placing a range of sticks onto the glowing pile. Gradually, as the flames built, she added more substantial logs. The warm glow from the flames played across her face, and he tried to relax back into the sofa and simply enjoy the moment. He was here, and so was she.

* * *

Once the heavy logs were beginning to crackle, she sat back on her heels and drained her mug.

"Is that any better?"

He smiled and sipped the last of his tea,

"I'm fine, pet. Perfect"

She started to stand, and for a moment he wondered if she might come and sit next to him on the sofa. But no. She walked to the window and drew the curtains, fussing with the ties.

"Would you like a shower?"

He turned and looked at her, surprised at the suggestion.

"Nah, it's ok"

She ran her hand through her hair, picked up a couple of books on the side table,

"You sure? You've been travelling all day, dinner won't be for another half hour at least"

He was sorely tempted to give himself an exaggerated sniff, see if he could make her laugh, but decided that this probably wasn't the right moment. She was agitated, and, it seemed, she thought he should take a shower. He remembered his conversation with Lynne, and how he'd resolved to take his lead from Laura.

"Go on then, why not?"

She smiled and he hauled himself back up out of the sofa. Laura led the way, grabbing his rucksack on her way up, and dumped it on the spare bed. There was already a towel hanging on the back of the door and she was starting to explain the mechanics of the shower when he interrupted her,

"I need you to help me out of my straight-jacket…"

She looked confused for a second, then, stepping closer, her hand on his elbow, she smiled warmly,

"Of course, sorry…"

"Lynne's taken to putting the clips behind my neck to I can't bloody reach them…"

He sat down on the bed and she leant over to inspect the sling,

"Sneaky…you can tell she's a nurse…"

"You wouldn't believe how much she's enjoyed this"

Laura smirked and reached round to unhook one of the clips. Her hand rested against his collarbone, holding the material taut, and he could feel the warmth through his shirt. The last clip was somewhat temperamental, and she tutted her irritation. As she bent further over him, her hair skimmed across his neck and he gasped. The clip released, and he exaggerated a groan of relief, hoping it would cover him. Carefully, she released his arm and holding his wrist, expertly laid it down on his knee. He watched her closely, trying not to smile at how hard she was trying not to look at him.

"There…how does that feel?"

Her tone was that of a medical professional, a slightly disinterested GP after a full day in the surgery. Were her cheeks not slightly pink, he would never have guessed her embarrassment.

"It feels great, Laura, thanks"

* * *

She left him to change, and went back to the kitchen, her mind racing. Furious with herself, she opened the fridge and grabbed a half-full bottle of Sauvignon and a glass off the draining board. A few sips later, she sat down at the kitchen table, head in her hands. This was not going well. He'd been nothing but nice, and it was all she could do not to run out of the house. Pathetic. She'd been getting increasingly nervous all day, but had assumed, just like exams and surgery, that once she actually got on with it, it would be fine. Turns out that relationships weren't quite so simple. She groaned and took another long sip. Great. Now she was turning into a bloody alcoholic. There was a creak above, and the shower hissed on. Without giving herself time to think, she grabbed her phone from the counter and dialled,

"Tell me again that this is a good idea"

To her credit, Ellen didn't laugh out loud,

"It's a good idea"

Laura sighed loudly and slumped in her chair.

"I take it he's arrived, then?"

"Hmm…in the shower now"

"Golly, you're a fast worker, Hobson"

She rolled her eyes and toyed with the stem of her wineglass,

"Oh, for god's sake Ellen, get your mind out of the gutter for five seconds, would you?"

"Just breathe, sweetie. Have you had a drink yet?"

"Am I that predictable?"

"No, but it might help."

As always, Ellen and a bottle to the rescue. She'd have laughed if it weren't so bloody tragic,

"Do you think I should ask him tonight?"

"Absolutely"

"Why?"

"Because otherwise you'll go mad trying to second guess everything he says, and you'll probably end up arguing about something stupid and storming out of your own house"

"Hmm"

"Just ask, Laura, it'll be fine"

They talked for a few minutes, Ellen desperately trying to hide the concern in her voice, Laura gradually resigning herself to her fate.

"OK. I'll call you later"

"You won't need to"

The shower was turned off, and feet padded overhead.

"I've got to go"

"That's the spirit"

She looked somewhat balefully at the clock…only 7.20. It would be at least another ten minutes until the food was ready. Suddenly that seemed to be a very long time. Finishing her glass of white, she put the bottle back in the fridge and opened a fresh bottle of something nicer. Pushing the timer on the oven, she grabbed another glass and walked through to the living room. Ten minutes. How bad could it be?

* * *

She was on her knees again, tending the fire, when he walked in and sat down. As she finished, she turned to look at him, nodding at his arm,

"Does that need strapping up again?"

He shrugged, regretting it instantly as the dull ache began,

"What? Oh nah, it's fine. Just Lynne being a Mother Hen really…"

"You sure?"

"Yeah. It's fine, so long as I don't forget to be careful"

She seemed satisfied, and this time she came to sit on the sofa next to him.

"Is it painful?"

"Not really. Not like it was. Gets tight when I'm tired, but apparently that's normal"

"It is"

He tried not to mind that she had slipped back into professional register, and smiled warmly. The fire crackled and they both looked over as a log sputtered a little. She reached over to the coffee table and poured a glass,

"You allowed some of this?"

He nodded, and reached out a hand, trying not to care that she carefully avoided touching his fingers as she passed the glass to him. Robbie relaxed back into the seat with a groan of pleasure, and took a sip. The room was wonderfully toasty now, but he couldn't help but notice how Spartan it all felt compared to her cosy cottage in Oxford.

"Do you miss your books?"

"Hmm?"

She had poured herself a glass, and was taking a large sip.

"Your books? From home?"

She looked surprised, like she'd never really considered it before,

"I suppose. I have my Kindle with me…"

"It's not the same though, is it?"

She smiled curiously, obviously not sharing his attachment to the printed word.

"I finished the one on Mao last week"

She raised an eyebrow and took another rather long sip from her glass,

"Was it any good? I must confess that I only got about twenty pages in…"

"Yeah, it was. And it did wonders for building up the muscle in my arm when I was in the hospital"

She tried to laugh, but it hardly reached her eyes. Perhaps that memory had been a little too sharp to share now. He placed his glass back on the table and rubbed at his shoulder absent-mindedly. The fire was mesmerising and he tried to relax. She had finished her glass and was already refilling. He'd only taken a few sips, but she made a point of topping his up. He frowned to himself, it wasn't like Laura to drink too much, even though he and Hathaway liked to tease her relentlessly to the contrary,

"Are you trying to get me drunk, Dr Hobson?"

She smirked ruefully, and fixed him with a defiant glare.

"Nope…I'm trying to get me drunk"

"And why would you be doing that?"

His tone was deliberately playful, but there was a hard edge to the look she gave him,

"Because I have to ask you something difficult, and I have a feeling that it'll only come out right if there's a decent chance I won't remember it tomorrow"

He laughed and, reaching over, took the glass from her hand. If this was the game, he could play along,

"How about you ask me now, pet? _Then_ I'll let you get drunk"

She looked away then, suddenly self-conscious, and moved to get up. Reaching into the wicker basket, she pulled out another log and placed it carefully on the fire. She didn't look round, but she knew he was watching her. Waiting for her to speak. Ten bloody minutes. Gingerly she prodded at the log with the poker, and replaced the fireguard. A shiver ran down her spine and she almost convinced herself that it was the proximity to the fire. Finally Laura rose, and went back to sit on the edge of the sofa. He looked perfectly relaxed. Having obviously given up on an immediate answer his eyes were closed, and he was clearly enjoying the chance to rest. She watched him carefully, trying to decide, trying to second-guess his response before even forming the question. She took a shaky breath,

"How do you feel about me?"

The words hung in the air, and for a moment she wondered if she'd actually said them out loud. He opened his eyes and looked at her for a long while, and then he sat forward, his elbows coming to rest on his knees.

"How do I _feel_ about you?"

He seemed confused.

 _Fuck_. She knew it. This was a huge mistake. He looked completely perplexed, not relieved or pleased. She felt sick. Why the hell had she ever listened to Ellen? Quickly, she got up and walked to the kitchen, anything to get away from him. Her heart was racing, and as she turned the oven down a notch, she fought hard against the urge to cry. She leant against the kitchen worktop and tried to breath.

* * *

 _Fuck_. Where to begin? How could he even put it into words? Words really weren't his forte… What had Lynne said? Keep it simple? Before he'd had a chance to speak, before he'd even turned to look at her, though, she was gone. He sighed loudly and rubbed his forehead in exasperation. He took another sip of his wine and stared into the fire, wondering how long he should give her to calm down. It must have taken a lot for her to ask. He'd never seen her look so scared, so entirely different to her normal self. He didn't like it. There was a crash of pans from the kitchen, and he winced. He set the glass back down carefully on the coffee table and eased himself out of the sofa. This couldn't carry on. Lynne might well have advised caution and patience, but he couldn't sit here while Laura was upset.

* * *

He stood in the doorway for what felt like an age, watching her chopping a huge pile of fresh herbs. She was, as always, methodical and efficient, but as she completed her task and set the knife down on the block she slumped against the counter and sniffed.

"Laura…"

She flinched, and wiping her face with her sleeve, she turned to look at him. He tried to smile, to reassure her, but it was clear she didn't really want to make eye contact. She looked cornered, and there was a defiance shining in her blue eyes, a silent imperative not to mention what had just happened.

"Come here"

She shook her head, and looked away, but he stretched out an arm and grasped her wrist, pulling her closer. He felt her let out a shaky breath, and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, holding her to his chest. He might not have the words to explain, but he could certainly show her how he felt.

"I think it's polite to let someone answer a question before walking out of a room, don't you?"

His tone was faintly teasing, and he felt her stiffen against him.

"You mean _everything_ to me, Laura. You _are_ everything."

He paused, letting her absorb his words. He stroked her hair, his thumb caressing the curve of her neck, trying to soothe the tension. She stepped back slightly and looked up at him, her eyes wide,

"Really?"

She looked genuinely surprised, and he felt his heart sink, the guilt rising up again.

"Really. I should have told you that months, possibly years ago. I thought you knew. I…"

He hesitated, his words suddenly insufficient. Still she stared at him. Leaning forward he tilted her chin up to his and lightly pressed his lips to hers, barely touching. She gasped and he smiled against her lips, tightening his hold on her as he gently kissed her again. Her arm slid around his waist and cautiously she returned the simple gesture. As he pulled back to look at her, her eyes were glistening and he tenderly pressed a kiss to her forehead,

"Last time, I…" He faltered, not sure how best to express his concerns. "I don't want to rush you…"

She smirked and laid her hand on his chest,

"Last time I was an idiot"

If he was surprised by her enthusiasm, he didn't show it, meeting her kisses with equal passion. He'd always known that it would be all or nothing with Laura. How could it be anything else? As they kissed, she looped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. His shoulder was screaming for him to stop, and he gasped at the sudden pressure. Immediately she dropped back, her hand gently stroking his collarbone.

"I'm sorry…"

Pulling back for a moment and glancing at the kitchen table, he used his good arm to lift her slightly, perching her on its edge. Normally he wouldn't have dared manhandle her like this, but the circumstances seemed appropriate. She smirked, obviously approving of his idea, and wrapped her arms around his waist, drawing him back close again.

"You always this resourceful?"

He grinned broadly, relieved to have the old Laura, _his_ Laura, back,

"I have my moments"

Her eyes flashed mischieviously,

"I'm sure you do…"

As she kissed him again, slower this time, savouring it, Laura wondered how she could ever have doubted him. Could have doubted this. All those weeks apart. She should have known the truth in September. He felt exactly the same way. He had then. And she'd almost lost him. Her hands were wrapped around his neck, and there was almost a desperation to her kisses now. She would never let him out of her sight again. The sharp insistent beep of the kitchen alarm shook her from her thoughts, and she remembered to breathe. Their mouths were millimetres apart, teasing, and she murmured against his lips,

"Dinner's ready"

He kissed her cheek, his lips tracing a path to her ear,

"No way, I'm not letting you run again, woman"

She smiled and cupped his face in her palm, her eyes serious,

"I'm not going anywhere"

He placed his hand over hers and pressed a kiss to her palm. She could look at him now, no longer embarrassed, and she gazed into his eyes, still not quite believing what had just happened. His hair was a little fluffy from the shower, and she ran her hand over it to smooth the edges down. It was a novelty to be at the same height as Robbie, and she made a mental note to repeat the experience in future. She pressed a kiss to his forehead,

"But it would be a shame to burn the lasagne I've spent all afternoon making…"

He growled, pulling her closer, kissing her neck,

"Damn you and your food-related excuses."

There was a pause,

"You made lasagne?"

She chuckled and leant into his touch,

"Let's just say I was planning multiple lines of attack"

He grinned and pushed her fringe out of her eyes,

"God I've missed you Laura"

His voice cracked a little with emotion, and she wasn't sure what to say, how to say it. Suddenly this all felt a little too much. She didn't trust her voice, and so simply nodded and kissed him tenderly once more,

"Fetch the rest of the wine while I dish up?"

* * *

A/N - I *almost* made this a two-parter, but I couldn't subject you all to an evil cliffhanger! Please write me a review and tell me what you thought about this, I really agonised over a few parts... ;)


	23. Chapter 23

Laura had already laid most of the table, but while he retrieved the bottle of wine, she filled a couple of tumblers with water. She held a glass under the tap and tried to ignore that her hand was shaking. Her mind was racing, but she knew this wasn't the time to try and process any of the questions rushing through her head. She would just have to relax and let it wash over her, literally and figuratively, for the moment. Taking a deep breath, she filled the other glass.

He must have crept in behind her, because she didn't hear him until he was right behind her, his hand coming to rest gently on her shoulder.

"You ok?"

She nodded, unsure whether to expand on this,and turned off the tap. He squeezed her shoulder lightly. As she placed the glasses on the table, he sat down and reached for the wine,

"I assume it's safe to give you some of this now?"

She laughed and rolled her eyes,

"I'm pretty sure I'll want to remember this tomorrow…you're safe"

She began to serve up the lasagna, and for a few moments they relaxed into companionable silence. He took a bite and groaned at the taste. Laura smiled broadly then attempted to feign nonchalance. Neither of them really wanted a long serious conversation, certainly not over dinner. There would be time for all that later. Laura took a small sip of her wine and helped herself to salad. Robbie took a pause in inhaling his dinner and sat back to look at her.

"So how was your Christmas?"

* * *

They had nearly finished eating, and the conversation had flowed naturally. Finally Laura had relaxed completely, and as she put down her knife and fork, she reached for his hand. He smiled warmly and covered her fingers with his own.

"What's James doing for Christmas?"

"Hathaway?"

She nodded, wondering how many other friends called James he had.

"He's gone to Estonia, with his band…apparently they're big there…"

His tone was dismissive, but she simply smiled,

"They are quite good, you know"

He looked curious and raised an eyebrow,

"How would you know?"

"He gave me a CD ages ago"

"Hmph…not sure I approve of him giving mixtapes to my girlfriend"

She looked at his seriously, but her tone was teasing,

" _Firstly_ , I wasn't your girlfriend…and _secondly_ , you've obvious never heard them…it's not exactly romantic acoustics"

"So, are you a fan?"

She shook her head, remembering the clashing of guitar riffs and heavy drums,

"Not really my kind of thing, but don't tell James that…"

Robbie laughed and sat back in his chair,

"He's a good lad though, took me to a few of my appointments"

She smiled sadly.

"He even snuck me a kebab into the hospital, you know?"

She shook her head in mock disbelief. It was entirely the kind of thing that James would do…

"About that…I…"

Laura faltered, knowing she had to say something, explain somehow. But it was hard to broach the subject.

"It's alright, love, you don't need to explain"

He squeezed her hand, his thumb running over her knuckles, trying to soothe.

"I think I do…"

She was watching his hand, trying to decide where to start.

"Nah, you don't. I think I get it"

His voice was steady, relaxed, and she looked up quickly,

"You do?"

His eyes met hers, and he smiled openly, pleased to surprise her,

"Yeah, Lynne offered me a privileged insight into the female mind"

"Did she now? Do tell…"

Laura's tone was measured, but it was hard to keep the slightly ironic edge out of her voice.

"She reckoned you probably felt like a spare wheel and didn't know what to do"

For a long moment she held his gaze, before looking down again at their joined hands. Struck, not for the first time, how very small her hand was compared to his.

"I'm sorry pet, that was a bit blunt…"

She looked up and smiled, wanting to reassure him,

"No…no, she's absolutely right. I'm not sure I'd realised it myself…but yes, that was exactly it"

He leant over the table slightly, and lifting her hand to his mouth, kissed it firmly.

"I didn't tell her much, I don't want you to think…"

She stroked his cheek reassuringly,

"Oh, that's alright. I've spent the best part of three years bending Ellen's ear about you"

"Really?"

"Yeah…we should probably buy them both a box of chocolates or something, to say thank you"

* * *

The wind outside was beginning to pick up, and the fire was drawing nicely in the sitting room. Robbie was slouched on the sofa, his arm wrapped around her shoulders. Conversation had ebbed, and they were both watching the fire, relaxing into their new-found closeness. He sighed softly, his lips ghosting across her temple,

"It was me, wasn't it? The other reason you left Oxford…"

At first she didn't answer, just curled into him,

"I thought it would help"

She didn't see it, but he smiled,

"Did it?"

She snorted slightly, and started to sit up,

"What do you think?"

She shifted, placing her palm against his chest, and twisted to look at him,

"I'm sorry, Robbie, I know I should have tried to explain. I just didn't know what to say."

 _So Lynne had been right. It really had been that simple…_

"I should warn you, though, I'm really not very good at talking about feelings"

He brushed her fringe back,kissing her forehead tenderly,

"And I'm a bloke, so we're clearly doomed"

He'd intended it as a joke, but her eyes were still serious,

"I mean it Robbie, I find this hard. I always assumed that we could only be friends, that…"

"I know, pet, I know."

"You do?"

"Hmm…and I didn't exactly wear my heart on my sleeve, now, did I? We'll work this out"

* * *

The clock on the mantelpiece clicked and began to chime the hour. Laura yawned loudly and leant back heavily against his chest,

"I can't believe it's only ten…I'm absolutely shattered"

Robbie smiled, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head,

"I think we've both had a long day"

It was only now that Laura's mind ticked over and she began to realise the glaring question mark over where he was going to sleep. Reaching for the remote, she flicked on the news. As distractions went, it was pretty pathetic, but it would have to do. He stretched his legs out slightly, but said nothing. She tried to keep her breathing steady, resolutely certain that she didn't want him to realise she was going wound up. She'd already done her best impression of a basket case this evening, and she absolutely had no plans on a repeat performance. But what to do? She could practically hear Ellen's voice in her head… _What do you want, Laura?_

And she really wasn't that sure. It would be easy to lead him upstairs, seduce him, but in spite of the years of waiting, it somehow felt rushed. She didn't want to disappoint him, didn't want him to doubt her feelings after all this time, but equally she wasn't sure she was relaxed enough this evening to really enjoy it. Could she tell him that, though? She shifted slightly, pressing her face against the soft wool of his jumper. His arm was looped lazily around her, and she could feel his chest rising with each breath.

* * *

As the regional news ended, Robbie yawned loudly and started to move. Grabbing the remote from where it lay on Laura's lap, he flicked the television off and started to massage the back of her neck,

"Sorry to be a granddad, pet, but I think I'm all about done in, here"

She smiled, and groaned involuntarily as his fingers found a tight spot,

"Sounds good…I'll just turn some of these lights off"

As she pottered around, locking the front door, unplugging her laptop, he watched her surreptitiously. She wandered into the kitchen, and then reappeared a second later, turning the light off behind her. Slowly, he climbed the stairs, still not entirely sure that he'd judged things correctly. He was halfway up when her hand found his, and at the top of the stairs he turned and smiled. She was about to speak when he lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a warm kiss to her knuckles,

"Do you prefer tea or coffee in the morning, pet?"

She raised an eyebrow and decided to play along,

"Tea…why?"

He leant in, his good arm wrapping around her, and pressed a firm kiss to her forehead,

"So I know what to bring you, of course"

The penny finally dropped, and she realised what he was trying to say, what he was trying to suggest. Of course she should have known that Robbie wouldn't push her into anything. She looped her arms around his neck and teased his cheek with her lips,

"Don't I at least get a goodnight kiss?"

She felt him smirk, and the hand on her shoulder pulled her closer. When their lips met, it wasn't the chaste kiss she expected. Each left the other in little doubt of how much they were both tempted to take things further. But they didn't. He kissed her forehead again, ran his fingers through her hair one last time, and smiled.

"Sleep well, Laura"

She smiled back, her hand already resting on the door handle,

"You too Robbie. And, Robbie…"

She turned slightly,

"Strong, not too much milk, no sugar"

* * *

As he lay in the small single bed, his book in one hand, glasses slipping off his nose, Robbie was sure he'd made the right decision. Every cell in his body had ached to stay with her, but he'd remembered Lynne's advice, and, more than that, it had felt right to be patient. They'd waited years for this, there really was nothing to be gained in rushing into something when they were both exhausted. He sighed, trying to focus on the page, and just as quickly conceding defeat. His shoulder was getting painful, and he was over tired. He took off his glasses and placed the book on the side table. Once he'd flicked off the light, he was asleep within minutes.

* * *

In her much larger, far more comfortable bed, Laura was curled up like a teenager, phone in one hand, secret stash of chocolate in the other. After she'd changed and got into bed, she'd texted Ellen the good news. It was no use avoiding the three texts that had been waiting on her phone, and given how well it had worked out, she was happy to share the events of the evening. Of course, Ellen had made a jibe about her 'losing her skills' but it had been in jest. Helping herself to another Malteaser, she keyed in another comment about the virtues of patience. In spite of all the anxiety, the tears, the frustration, today had gone well. For the first time in months, she was genuinely happy.


	24. Chapter 24

Robbie had slept soundly, and he woke early. The pale winter light was just beginning to creep under the curtains. He lay there quietly, listening to the sounds of the central heating cranking into gear, replaying some of his personal highlights from the previous evening. She wasn't up yet, of that he was sure, and he regretted not asking her what time she normally woke. They knew each other so well, and yet there were so many small details like that, things he had no idea about. He would have pegged her for a coffee drinker, hands down, but he'd been wrong. He wondered idly what else he might be wrong about. Sitting up carefully, he picked his phone up from the bedside table. 7.25. It actually wasn't that early after all. There was a text from Lynne, bless her, and he quickly replied.

'Arrived safe. U were spot on. Think we're on the right track now. :) Dad x'

She'd be on shift by now, but she'd pick it up on her break. He smiled to himself, imagining her reaction. It felt good to finally have some good news after the past few months.

* * *

At eight, he crept down to the kitchen, wincing as his bare feet made contact with the cold flagstones. He filled the kettle and began to explore. Most of the cabinets were relatively empty, but one was packed. Tea, every bloody variety under the sun. He shook his head in amused disbelief. Trust Laura to have a collection. The kettle came to the boil and clicked off...and he was no closer to a decision. In the end he simply opted for bog-standard builders' tea. She had said strong, and no one in their right mind would have green tea for breakfast, would they? He sniggered to himself. No one in their right mind would drink the stuff at all…

* * *

He climbed the stairs carefully, regretting the decision to fill the mugs quite so amply and tapped gently on her bedroom door.

Nothing.

He listened carefully, and tapped again. The door wasn't closed, and getting no reply, he eased it open an inch or two and poked his head through the gap. She was curled up in a mass of pillows and blankets - what was it with women and soft furnishings? - still fast asleep. He smiled to himself. She was so beautiful. He wondered for a moment whether he should abandon the idea and come back later, but as he leant against the door frame, he must have shifted his weight a little, and one of the floorboards creaked. She stirred, and brushed her fringe out of her eyes,

"Robbie…"

Her voice was husky with sleep.

"I'm sorry pet, I didn't mean to wake you"

She smiled and then yawned loudly, before pulling one of the blankets up around her as she sat up,

"That's ok…you didn't really"

He stepped into the room and held out the steaming mug of tea. She smiled contentedly and wrapped her hands around it appreciatively,

"Did you sleep ok?"

He nodded, taking a sip from his own mug,

"Like a log…"

She yawned again and after a long sip, set her mug down on the bedside table. He shivered slightly, the warm tea reminding him of his bare feet and how thin his pyjamas were.

"You look freezing"

He shrugged, and she purposefully reached over and folded back the other side of the duvet.

"You sure?"

"Get in, just looking at you is making me cold"

Setting his mug down on the bedside table, he climbed in carefully and pulled the covers up over his knees. Her expression was slightly bemused, and she leant over and adjusted a few pillows to make him more comfortable. As she did so, she dropped a quick kiss to his stubbly cheek. Before she could move back, he slid his arm around her shoulders, and pulled her against his chest,

"Good morning"

Laura curled her arm around his waist and settled in to his shoulder,

"Yes it is"

* * *

As Laura finished the dregs of her tea, she felt him shift against her for the third time, obviously trying to get comfortable. She twisted and looked at him with concern,

"You ok there?"

He sighed, moving again,

"Just this bloody shoulder. I keep getting stiff…"

She raised an eyebrow and looked at him suggestively.

"Aw, behave woman…"

Running an exploratory hand down the curve of his shoulder, she checked the swelling of the muscle. It was slightly warm, and there was definitely some tightness. She looked back up at him, serious now,

"Will you let me have a look at it?"

He frowned slightly, clearly hesitant,

"It's a bit of a mess…don't feel you have to"

She shook her head, her hand sliding up from his neck to cup his cheek,

"I want to."

He closed his eyes as her thumb caressed his lips and nodded.

Carefully, Laura sat up and crossed her legs. He watched her closely as she unbuttoned his pyjama top, pushing it back from his injured shoulder. Years of practice had inured her to the shock of injuries, but she couldn't help the slight intake of breath when she saw the scarring. Alice had done a good job with the suturing, but nothing could disguise the severity of the damage. Delicately, she ran her finger around the scar tissue and he shivered.

"It's healing nicely…"

He grunted a reply and slumped back into the pillows,

"It's a mess"

She looked up at him and wasn't surprised to see that his eyes were once again closed. It was almost as if he was trying to pretend it wasn't there. As if he couldn't look at it. At her. Without a word, she slid the pyjama shirt fully down his arms and curled her feet underneath her. Leaning forward, her body coming to rest lightly against his, she pressed her lips directly over the scar and kissed him. Gently, she teased her lips over the damaged skin, tracing the ridges, the smoothness. She felt him shiver again, and the weight of his arm wrapped around her back, pulling her closer.

"Laura…"

His voice was low, almost a growl, and she smiled against his skin. She kissed him again, and shifted slightly, sliding her mouth along the curve of his collarbone. His chest was warm, and she pressed her face against him, inhaling deeply.

* * *

As her lips traced the line of his collarbone, Robbie shivered and ran his fingers through her hair. He caressed the nape of her neck and gradually lifted her away from his chest. Her eyes shone with emotion, and he pressed a kiss to her lips, deepening it immediately, needing her to understand. Her arms wound around his neck, and she lifted herself to sit on his lap. Not once since the accident had he really thought about how close he'd been to dying, but now it was impossible to ignore what that would have meant. Kissing Laura, he'd never felt more alive. But this wasn't what he had intended, when he'd accepted her offer to get into the bed, and he wasn't sure if this counted as taking things slowly. His body was beginning to respond to the exquisite feel of her against him, their kisses growing ever more passionate, and he knew he had to ask. He wanted to ask. Taking her cheek in his palm, his thumb traced the outline of her lips,

"Laura…"

She smiled warmly, and pressed a kiss to his thumb.

"Yes…?"

He grinned back, relieved that she hadn't misunderstood why he had paused,

"At the risk of sounding…"

She smirked.

"…prudish…"

She raised an eyebrow.

"Could we wait until this evening?"

* * *

To her surprise, he actually looked slightly bashful as he asked. Like a naughty schoolboy. Laura had to concentrate hard on not laughing out loud. His thumb was still teasing her bottom lip, and she couldn't resist the opportunity to playfully bite him. He swallowed visibly, and she felt a rush of warmth through her body at the sense of power. Poor Robbie, he didn't stand a chance. She released his thumb and turned her head to press a kiss to his palm. Her arms were still looped around his neck, and slowly, teasingly, she ran her hands down his shoulders, his arms, until their hands joined,

"Of course…"

She said it kindly, but the note of concern was visible in his eyes,

"You sure?"

She smiled reassuringly, and nodded. Pulling on both his hands, she lifted him off the pillows and pressed a relatively chaste kiss to his lips,

"Of course I'm sure… Do you think I'd let you escape if I weren't?"

He rolled his eyes and kissed her again, making it quite clear that escaping was not an option, not in the long run.

* * *

"So what do you want to do today?"

They'd lain there in companionable silence for nearly ten minutes, just enjoying being curled up next to each other. Robbie's arm was back around Laura's shoulders, and she was checking her emails on her phone. She looked up,

"You know, I have absolutely no idea. I hadn't really planned this far"

He tutted softly,

"I guess there's a first time for everything"

Placing the phone back on the nightstand, she nestled her face into the crook of his good shoulder,

"I suppose staying like this all day isn't an option"

He sighed theatrically, and stretched his legs out,

"Well, not all day…some of us were expecting the full guided tour of Cambridge"


	25. Chapter 25

AN/ Apologies for the hiatus - I've been ridiculously busy and unwell. Which has been remarkably tedious.

* * *

By the time they were finishing breakfast, it was almost eleven. The kitchen had warmed up significantly once Robbie had made a slight adjustment to the central heating, and with no fixed schedule for the day ahead, there hardly seemed any reason to rush. Laura sat in her usual way, heels on the edge of the seat, knees to her chest, her hands curled round her mug of coffee. Robbie was finishing off the last of the toast. Not for the first time in the past twenty four hours, it struck Laura how utterly at ease she now felt around him. How much she enjoyed the luxury of just watching him eat breakfast. It was an extremely peaceful sensation and one to which she planned to become accustomed.

He looked up as he popped the final corner of the slice into his mouth - sensing her scrutiny - and licked the marmalade from his thumb,

"Alright pet?"

She smiled and nodded,

"Perfect. So…fancy a walk?"

He stretched back in his chair and yawned loudly, wincing as he pushed his left shoulder a little further than advised,

"Definitely"

She grinned and jumped up to tidy their plates. Robbie tried not to laugh, but the flash of energy amused him. It was entirely Laura that - either she was perfectly still or she was dashing around. There didn't seem to be much of an in-between. There was something extremely endearing about her chaotic bustle. She headed off in the direction of the stairs,

"I won't be a second, I'm just going to get a jumper…looks freezing outside"

He looked up from the paper and took another sip of coffee,

"Would you fetch mine? It's in my holdall"

"Sure"

* * *

She found the soft fleece she was looking for quickly and slid it on. After a quick check in the mirror and a swipe of mascara, she went in search of his bag. He'd made the bed - of course he had - and everything was arranged neatly on the low side table. At least he was pretty well house-trained… She hauled the bag up onto the bed and started to rummage. There were a couple of pairs of jeans, a few shirts…and a light wool jumper. Unconsciously, she picked it up and inhaled deeply. Spicy, clean, and something unmistakably Robbie. Replacing the other clothes, she noticed the heavy book at the bottom of the bag and smiled. She had her doubts that she would ever wade her way through this one, but it was somehow comforting that he'd spent his hospital stay reading her book. Even if it was about a cruel dictator with questionable economic policies. And he'd certainly read it. As she flicked through the pages, the spine gave a little. A couple of sheets of paper fluttered out onto the bed and she quickly picked them up. Turning them over, she recognised the diagrams immediately, her own scratchy handwriting. So he'd kept them. The edges were battered, and it was clear that the flimsy sheets had been opened and refolded many times. In pencil, at the bottom of one page was simply a date September 7th, 2012. It seemed strange that he'd added the date, and for a moment she wondered why he'd done it. Carefully she folded the pages back up and replaced them at the back of the book, and slid it into his bag.

* * *

As she re-entered the kitchen, he was embarking on the crossword, obviously with little immediate success. She draped the jumper around his shoulders, and pressed a kiss to his cheek, before helping herself to more coffee. She stood leaning against the counter for a moment, watching him think,

"The seventh of September?"

The inflection was slight, but he turned and looked at her, a small smile playing across his lips,

"Is that a question or a clue?"

She took a sip of her coffee,

"A question"

"Hmm…"

He set the pencil back down on the table and finished the dregs of his coffee before standing. Slowly, he stepped closer and ran his hands down her upper arms, smoothing her jumper down,

"Sounds like a cryptic one…"

She smiled as his arms slid around her waist.

"It was a day worth remembering"

Her brow furrowed, and she set her mug down on the counter,

"I showed you some cell structures…and chucked you out of my house"

He rolled his eyes patiently and pressed a light, teasing kiss to her lips,

"That wasn't what I was remembering, Laura…"

* * *

"You're going to have to help me with this jumper"

She was in the hallway and was rummaging for a scarf while he finished rinsing the mugs. To be fair, he'd made a valiant attempt at getting it on, but one arm was clearly twisted and he was obviously trying to be careful with his shoulder. Grinning, she reached up and adjusted the errant sleeve, straightened the neck band and pulled the remaining fabric down his back.

"Do you need me to strap up your arm?"

He shook his head, and adjusted his cuffs,

"Nah, it's not necessary"

She smiled to herself - knowing full well that he probably should strap it up - and pulled on her coat,

"Well, just so long as you promise to behave yourself…"

He reached over her shoulder to unhook his coat from the peg and pressed a kiss to her temple,

"Promises, promises…"

* * *

They walked across Coe Fen and into town. Even though it was the middle of the day, there were few people around. The sunlight was muted by heavy cloud, and the chill in the air encouraged a brisk pace. Almost as soon as she'd turned her key in the lock, Robbie had taken her hand in his. For years, he'd assumed that public displays of affection were unnecessary, they made him uncomfortable, somehow. But something had changed. And suddenly walking down the street holding her hand seemed like a very important thing to do.

All the colleges were shut for the Christmas vacation, and although the shops were open for the New Year sales, trade was feeble. Once the mad rush for bargains had passed, the crowds had thinned, and today the streets were quiet. They walked down past the Botanical Gardens, and down Trumpington Street. He'd been to Cambridge before, and was in no rush to do a full tourist experience. He had a slightly different itinerary in mind.

"Can we go to your lab?"

She paused slightly, looked up quizzically,

"Really?"

"Yeah, I want to see what you've been up to"

* * *

She led him down a side road, then another, before taking a final turn and approaching a glass-fronted building. Robbie waited as she dug around in her wallet for a key card, and, once the door clicked open, followed her in. The corridors were airy and well-lit, a world away from the mortuary in Oxford, and not for the first time he wondered how to broach the subject of her career change,

"It's nice…"

She turned her head back a little to look at him, and smiled slightly, the question already forming in her eyes,

"It's alright. Bit cold…"

He followed her down a couple of corridors, before stopping at another door, another swipe of the key card and a click. The lab was small, but obviously well-equipped. There were a couple of benches, four workstations, each laid out with what looked like a full range of state of the art facilities.

"Well, here you go…there's not that much to see, I'm afraid"

She seemed a little bemused by his interest, so he stepped closer and wrapped his arms around her waist, his chin coming to rest on her shoulder,

"So come on then, I want to see what you've been working on"

She tilted her head up slightly, smiling as his lips skimmed across her temple,

"You want to see some actual tests?"

He grinned, recognising the flash of enthusiasm in her eyes that he'd seen in September,

"Yep, I want to have a go with a pipette and everything…"

* * *

It was a couple of hours later when Laura remembered to look up at the clock, and she was astounded that the time had passed so quickly. Already it was starting to get gloomy outside, and Robbie was the proud owner of a couple of gels and a plated sample. She smiled at him as he carefully slid the lens into the spectroscope, just as she'd shown him. He leant over and took a close look, his lips moving as he counted the thin threads in the sample,

"Sixteen"

She nodded and smiled warmly,

"Exactly"

He sat back on the stool and reached his arm around her waist, pulling her closer,

"I can see why you find this interesting, pet"

She pressed a kiss to his hair and switched off the machine. She was just replacing a tray of gels when the door swung open and Leo - her joint PI - strode in.

"Jesus Laura, you're as bad as me, it's supposed to be Christmas...oh, hello"

Robbie turned and was immediately struck by how handsome the man was, his blonde curly hair, startling blue eyes. And he was dressed like a male model. He swallowed quickly, and moved to stand. Laura seemed to be distracted by the tray of gels, and for a moment the two men just looked at each other. A small smile playing across his perfectly-formed lips, Leo thrust out a manicured hand,

"Leo Hamilton, Caius college"

Robbie shook his hand, cursing as the firm action pulled at his neck,

"Lewis"

The younger man raised an eyebrow, obviously waiting for further introduction,

"Just Lewis"

Laura had turned, and was watching them curiously,

"Sorry Leo, just showing, um, Lewis, what I've been getting up to for the past few months"

Leo grinned, and casting his eye over the rudimentary science lesson he'd interrupted, bit his lip,

"No worries. Just don't go moonlighting on me… none of that teaching nonsense in this lab"

Laura rolled her eyes and carried on clearing away the equipment. Leo was good fun, but she'd never live this one down. For weeks, ever since she'd turned down the job, he'd been trying to work out what might possibly have induced her to go back to the other place. At the Christmas drinks, he'd settled on a new theory of a secret affair with a doctoral student, which given his own track record… She stacked a row of droppers and smiled as he effortlessly hauled open the heavy door of the refrigerator. They both knew the lab well, and they moved with an easy efficiency. Laura glanced over at Robbie, who was pretending to look at his phone.

"We missed you at the New Year's drinks, Laura…Emma spread a malicious rumour that you were in the Seychelles with Hamish"

He was enjoying this far too much, and although she knew he was only playing, she couldn't be sure that Robbie was ready for this kind of banter. She rolled her eyes again and picked up her coat,

"I think we both know that Emma, unlike you, was entirely innocent of that particular rumour…"

He shrugged and stuck out his tongue.

"Anyway, I think we're done here…I've promised Robbie a tour of the colleges, and we haven't even made it into town yet. You planning on working late?"

Leo smiled at the use of his given name, and hauled his satchel onto the bench,

"Going to do the revisions to the second paper; then I need to go over the batch of kids I've just pulled out of the pool to reinterview"

She patted his arm in commiseration,

"Don't work too hard"

Robbie watched the warm, playful exchange with interest. She was happy here. Jesus, even he would pick the golden-haired boy over Rawbone. As she squeezed his arm and smiled reassuringly, he felt his heart sink a little. He wasn't jealous, not really, but… She had friends here. He couldn't help but think back to how stressed she'd been before she left, how unpleasant her boss had been, questioning her decisions. She had already told him she planned to come back to Oxford, but he couldn't ask her to do that for him, and he wouldn't. She was putting on her coat, and wordlessly, he did the same. As they walked down the deserted corridor, he reached out and placed his hand on her shoulder, his thumb gently massaging the nape of her neck. They would figure it out.


	26. Chapter 26

"He seemed nice…"

The pavements were deserted as they walked down Tennis Court road, his arm still resting across her shoulders. In contrast to the artificially-heated lab, the air was chilly and Laura shivered,

"Yeah, he is. Bit mad, but then again they all are…"

She leant against him a little, conscious not to put too much pressure on his injured shoulder. Robbie smiled to himself, noting her choice of the word 'they',

"I'm assuming I don't need to be jealous about…"

"Hamish?"

She looked up, a wry smile playing across her lips,

It wasn't exactly what he'd meant, but he nodded, a twinkle in his eye.

"Just because Leo has a penchant for sleeping with his graduate students, it doesn't mean the rest of us are at it…"

"He does?"

"Hmm"

"Is that allowed?"

He looked genuinely shocked at the thought and she smiled indulgently, snuggling back into his shoulder,

"Technically yes, as long as you declare any conflicts of interest, but…"

"…Must get complicated"

She smiled to herself as he obviously pondered the logistics of such an affair. He really was quite the innocent…

"Hmm…can't say I've ever found that aspect of college life particularly appealing…"

* * *

They made their way over the icy cobbles of Botolph Street, careful not to slip, and she nodded towards a large oak door in the wall.

"Speaking of colleges, if you want, we can cut through here… I have a key"

They walked through the small courtyard at the rear of the College, past the kitchens, and under the main dining hall. The place was deserted and in the dim afternoon light the dark oak staircase and wainscoting took on a slightly sinister hue. There was a creak overhead, and Robbie looked up quickly,

"Any ghosts I should be aware of?"

She grinned and followed his gaze up the stairs,

"Plenty…though most of them are still on the fellowship"

A faint shaft of light caught the old stained glass window above, and she dragged him through the passageway out into the old courtyard.

Even though he'd spent half his life wandering around Oxford colleges, Robbie never really felt that comfortable with the places or the people who lived in them. The students were alright, for the most part, but he had little time for dons and officious porters. It all seemed like a complicated joke to him, a world away from reality. Laura squeezed his hand and he was drawn from his thoughts.

"Didn't have you pegged for the superstitious type…"

He smiled and curled his hand around her much smaller one,

"I'm not, pet. Just thinking about how strange these places are…"

She raised an eyebrow, encouraging him to elaborate.

"You know, gowns, traditions, poncy private school kids with trust funds"

She smiled and shrugged,

"I know. But it is changing now…that's not where I came from…"

He grimaced, immediately regretting his choice of words,

"I know, pet, I didn't mean it like that…"

"I know. And for what it's worth, I don't exactly agree with a lot of it, but education is so important, Robbie, and research…"

He smiled and wrapped an arm back around her, pulling her closer,

"Don't"

She looked up, a little peeved,

"What?"

He smiled and kissed her forehead,

"Don't justify yourself to a stupid old dinosaur like me. You're right. I'm being unfair"

She smirked and kissed his cheek,

"Tyrannosaurus rex or triceratops?"

He chuckled softly, kissing her lightly,

"Now, if I'd got a science degree, I'd be able to tell you…"

* * *

They walked back out onto the street, and took a left turn onto King's Parade. It was the street that Robbie knew best, and as they strolled along, he admired the architecture. Opposite King's, Laura paused, her interest drawn by a brightly lit window, full of antiques and ethic soft furnishings. He waited patiently as her eyes lingered over the vibrant colours, and he took the opportunity to admire her face in the reflection of the glass.

"Are you looking forward to coming back to Oxford?"

She was concentrating on the intricate woven fabrics, and for a moment he wondered if she'd heard the softly spoken question. Unobserved, he watched her face, his heart lifting as she smiled to herself,

"Absolutely. I can't wait to get back into the field…"

He was still holding her hand, his fingers warming hers,

"Really? But don't you prefer the academic stuff to all the blood and gore?"

"The two aren't necessarily separate."

She turned, her attention now fully on him and carefully, deliberately she kissed his cheek. She understood entirely what he was asking.

"I'm really looking forward to coming home, Robbie. For lots of reasons. One of which happens to be slicing up bodies with my favourite DI"

Her hand had risen to cup his cheek, and he smiled, pressing a kiss to her palm,

"I don't want you to feel you have to…"

"I know. And I don't. If it makes you feel any better, I decided weeks ago"

* * *

They strolled on, past Caius College, down past the smart new shops on Trinity Street. Opposite the college of the same name, was a large bookshop, and it was Robbie's turn to linger. Although Blackwells more than catered to his needs, it was hard to resist the temptation to step inside. He felt Laura's arm slide around his waist,

"Shall we go in? They don't shut for another half hour"

"Nah, you're alright, I'll come back another day…have a proper browse"

She nodded and adjusted her scarf, amused as he took another second or two to prise his eyes from the display. They walked on, and paused to admire the beautiful paintwork on the great gate of John's. The light was really fading now, and she was conscious it would be dark in an hour,

"We can go this way, if you like…"

He hesitated for a moment, eyeing the Porters' Lodge, and the prominently displayed 'No Visitors' sign,

"Won't they be shut?"

She dug into her pocket and pulled out her wallet,

"Not if I show them some ID"

She waved the small blue card at the porter on the gate and he nodded, stepping back to let them in. Robbie quietly put his warrant card back in his pocket, but not before she saw it and smirked,

"Mine also gets me a 20% discount on books from Heffers, you know…"

He grinned and pulled her closer as they walked across the courtyard,

"Best keep in your good books, then, doctor…"

* * *

It only took ten minutes to cross the long lawns of St Johns out onto the Backs, but as they walked in silence, Laura's mind was wandering. Term would be starting soon, she'd planned to be back in the office from Monday, and she had at least two days of writing to finish before then… Glancing at him, she smiled as he was distracted by a pair of squirrels skidding over the last of the snow.

"Robbie…at the risk of sounding like a terrible host…"

"…you were wondering how long I planned on staying?"

He squeezed her hand gently and turned to look at her, not a little amused at the look of shock on her face.

"How the hell did…?"

"…I know what you were going to say?"

She shook her head in amused irritation as, once again, he took the words out of her mouth,

"Yes…"

"I've known you for the best part of fifteen years, Laura"

She rolled her eyes.

"…and besides, you've not said a word since I mentioned that I'd go back to that bookshop later. I _am_ a detective, you know?"

"I'm going to have to watch myself around you, aren't I?"

He raised an eyebrow suggestively, and she chuckled,

"So, _Detective_ Lewis how long am I going to have the pleasure of your company?"

"I'm not sure, pet…"

"Is Lynne expecting you back?"

"Nah, we agreed that I'd head back to Oxford. She needs a break from her old dad…"

"And do you have any pressing need to be back in Oxford?"

"Nope. In fact I'm signed off for at least another month. I'll need to give evidence at the enquiry in London, at the end of January, but otherwise my schedule is clear."

As they walked, the silence stretched out. It wasn't awkward, not exactly, but it was felt.

"How about you?"

She looked up at him, confused,

"In what respect?"

He'd meant to ask whether she was busy, whether she had plans, but simply settled with the obvious,

"Me staying…"

She looked at him, head tilted and a small smile playing on her lips,

"Yes please"

"Are you making fun of me?"

She smiled and shook her head,

"Nope. I want you to stay. For as long as you like"

"Really? You don't have to say that, I know you like your own space, and…"

She held up a hand, gently pressing it to his chest,

"Robbie, I've spent the last four months…"

She sighed, not wanting to descend into cliche, and tried again,

"I think I've had enough of my own company for a while...if that's ok with you?"

He grinned broadly, and kissed her forehead,

"It's more than ok, love"


	27. Chapter 27

They'd been home for an hour or so, and Robbie was still on the phone to his daughter. Not that Laura minded. It was good to hear him nattering away about his trip down, the merits of her lasagne, the delights of what he'd seen in the lab. He'd obviously been genuinely interested in her work, and she was touched to hear him talking so enthusiastically about what he'd learned. She'd always known that he was close to Lynne, but it was lovely to hear him so relaxed. Not once had she ever seriously considered having children of her own - it just wasn't something she wanted - but now she found herself looking forward to seeing more of the young woman.

The light had now faded to nothing and she turned on all the kitchen lights. She still hadn't decided on dinner, but in comparison with the tension of the previous night, she was relaxed. It really didn't matter what they ate, so long as it was tasty. Laura opened the fridge and had a quick look. Nothing particularly grabbed her, but there was plenty of time for inspiration to strike. She clicked the kettle on and pulled a couple of mugs out of the cupboard. As the water boiled she turned on her laptop and fired up her email. It had only been a day since she'd last checked, but in all honesty it had been the best part of a week since she'd really tackled the inevitable backlog. It was ridiculous how it built up, especially over what was supposed to be a time for family. She sighed and poured out a mug of tea, leaving the hot water in the kettle for when Robbie was finished. 258 emails. Barely registering her own actions, she reached up into the top cupboard and retrieved a pack of dark chocolate digestives. Fingers crossed she could work through her inbox before she finished the packet…

* * *

She was down to 187 when Robbie hung up and wandered into the kitchen. Without preamble he stepped behind her and pressed a kiss to her cheek, before moving over to the counter. Automatically he reached up for the tea caddy and dropped a bag in his cup, covering it with water. Without looking, he opened the fridge under the counter and extracted the milk. Laura watched him, incredulous,

"How do you do that?"

He raised an eyebrow, not understanding, and leant back against the wooden counter,

"Um…tea bag, water, milk?"

She smiled indulgently and rolled her eyes,

"No, how did you know where everything was?"

He grinned, taking a careful sip of his tea,

"I made tea this morning…"

She smiled, nodded, realising immediately how ridiculous she sounded,

"So you did…"

Robbie picked the milk up and leant down to put it back in the fridge.

"I'm sorry, it just takes a bit of getting used to…"

He stood up again and reached over to squeeze her shoulder gently,

"I know… Do you want me to give you a bit of time to yourself?"

His comment surprised her, and she quickly shook her head, not wanting to appear grumpy. He moved behind her again and slid his arms down hers, nuzzling against her neck,

"That looks suspiciously like work, Dr Hobson…"

She smiled, leaning into his cheek,

"Guilty as charged, officer"

He chuckled and pressed a kiss to her ear,

"Sure you don't want me to leave you to it for a bit?"

Laura smiled to herself. He understood. Unlike nearly everyone else she'd ever met, Robbie just got it. It wasn't that she wanted to work instead of spending time with him, but that she'd feel much better once it was done.

"Not really, but Monday will be a lot more bearable if I can spend half an hour working my way through emails this afternoon…"

She felt him smile against her cheek and, as he moved, a kiss dropped to the back of her head,

"Then I'll let you crack on pet"

She nodded and he moved to pick up his tea,

"Anyway, an if I'm not mistaken, there's darts on the telly this afternoon"

Her head shot up,

"Oh God, you're not…?"

For a moment she stared at him, trying to decipher the innocent, slightly bemused look on his face. Surely he was pulling her leg? She raised an eyebrow and wondered how to play it. As much as she found the working class lad impression endearing, it simply didn't wash, he was definitely winding her up. She fixed him with an indulgent look,

"Enjoy it while you can…remote's on the shelf under the coffee table"

He grinned and winked,

"Champion"

As he walked back down the corridor she found she couldn't draw her eyes away from his back. How was all so bloody simple? They just worked. And it felt incredible.

* * *

In the small sitting room, Robbie rummaged around for the remote. He flicked on the telly, and scrolled through to locate something worth watching. As he expected, there wasn't much on, but he didn't want Laura to think he was just sat there waiting for her to finish, so he settled on the news channel. Not that he had any intention of watching it. He took another sip of tea and reached for his book.

He read for half an hour or so, absorbed in the narrative and enjoying the warmth of the fire. This one had been a Christmas present from Lynne, and he was pleasantly surprised. The first few chapters had been hard work, and he didn't have much time for Rochester, but he was impressed how much a romance about a Victorian governess was holding his attention. The fire had begun to die down and he paused to add a couple more logs. As much as he liked Laura's cottage, he was unimpressed with its central heating, and he planned to get this room, at least, nice and toasty.

* * *

As Robbie pottered back into the kitchen for another cup of tea, Laura looked up and smiled. There was something extremely comforting about knowing she didn't need to say anything. He nodded in the direction of the kettle and she shook her head. He smiled back and winked, before turning his attention to the task. After a few minutes he bent down to look in the fridge,

"Have you got plans for those sausages?"

She was a little distracted, an email from Leo - asking for some data from the last run - had just pinged in,

"Nothing specific"

The files were on her hard drive, and she found the spreadsheet he wanted quickly.

"Will you let me make dinner tonight?"

Laura looked up and raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised by his suggestion,

"You sure?"

He rummaged around in the back of the fridge, obviously looking for something, before emerging with a patient smile,

"Of course…I am fully house-trained, you know?"

"That's not what I meant…"

He stood and poured out his tea, before reaching over to steal a biscuit.

"So what are you going to make?"

He grinned and tapped his nose,

"It'll be a surprise"

Looking very pleased with himself, he pressed a quick kiss to her temple and sauntered off in the direction of the living room. Smiling to herself, Laura helped herself to another biscuit, just in case. She'd never had the privileges of one of Robbie's culinary creations, but she'd heard more than enough from James to be wary. She shook her head and tried to concentrate on her inbox…how much of a disaster could one man make with a few sausages?

* * *

A/N - Thanks for all your lovely messages - I'm not entirely healed, but much better! :)


	28. Chapter 28

At seven, Robbie sauntered back into the kitchen and extracted a couple of wine glasses from the cupboard high over the fridge. He hadn't said a word, but as he rummaged around in the utensils drawer for a corkscrew, Laura powered down her laptop and closed the lid with a distinct click.

"All finished, pet?"

He'd found the corkscrew and was perusing the modest selection of bottles in the wine rack. As he lifted a bottle and read the label, he smiled and raised an eyebrow, before placing it carefully back on the rack, and lifted another. From anyone else, this relaxed attitude towards her 'territory' would have irritated Laura, but she was pleasantly surprised to find she didn't mind in the slightest.

"Yep, more or less."

He pulled out another bottle and looked at the label, squinting a bit at the small font,

"Any of these you want me to avoid?"

Laura stretched her arms out above her head and groaned at the tightness of her shoulders,

"Not really, pick anything you like…there's nothing that exciting"

Eventually, he selected one and stepped back to the counter to retrieve the corkscrew. As he opened the bottle with a pop and poured them both a glass, Laura wandered over and wrapped her arms around his waist. He'd only been here 24 hours, and already they had settled into something of a routine. She pressed her face into the brushed cotton of his shirt and smiled as she felt the soft pressure of a kiss on the top of her head.

* * *

With Laura safely curled up on the sofa, in front of the fire, and under strict instructions to relax and read a book, Robbie was thoroughly enjoying himself making dinner. He only had five dishes in his repertoire, it was true, all taught by Lynne over the years, but he definitely subscribed to the maxim of quality over quantity. And this recipe was his favourite. After months of being waited on hand and foot, he was pleased to take charge. Not that there was that much to do really. The sausages were sizzling away in the oven, and the batter was already whisked and in the fridge to chill. All that was left now was to slice up some onions and get the gravy going. The soft sound of footsteps padding over the kitchen floor, and an arm sliding around his waist announced he had a visitor.

"Need a hand?"

He smiled and folded his fingers around the arm that was holding him, squeezing gently,

"Nope"

She chuckled softly and, untangling herself, reached over to pour a little more wine into her empty glass,

"OK"

He winked at her and smiled,

"Be about 20 minutes…"

"I'll leave you to it then"

* * *

Laura wandered back into the living room and curled back onto the sofa. Things seemed to be in hand in the kitchen, and if the aromas were anything to go by, she might actually be pleasantly surprised. With a momentary pang of guilt, she wondered whether she should have snuck the extra few biscuits when he wasn't looking. She'd finished another chapter of her book and really wasn't in the mood to plough on. Her phone was still flashing at her, and she knew that it was probably time to put Ellen out of her misery. To be fair, her friend had avoided calling all day, which by Ellen's standards, was exceptional self-restraint. Laura sipped her wine, and picked up the handset.

'How's it going? ;)'

She smiled and tapped out a reply.

'Perfect. He's making me dinner'

The reply pinged in immediately,

'Good work Hobson. So, have you done the dirty yet?'

Laura sighed and rolled her eyes. Typical Ellen.

'I don't want to rush him'

It was the truth, and there was no point pretending otherwise.

'Just how injured is he?'

She smirked. God, if this carried on, no doubt Ellen would be providing step-by-step advice on appropriate sexual positions for those with shoulder injuries… After another sip of wine, she replied.

'I'm not sure it's the physical damage I'm worried about'

She pressed send, and then immediately added another line,

'What if he's not ready for this?'

There was a crash from the kitchen, something that sounded like a pan falling into the sink. She winced and called out,

"You ok?"

"Fine, just a bit enthusiastic with draining the vegetables"

She smiled to herself, and looked back at the phone.

'Only he can tell you that Laura. Do you trust him to tell you?'

Of course Ellen would say that. She pondered the question for a moment, and replied, quite certain of the answer.

'Yes'

Ellen's reply pinged in almost immediately,

'Then make it clear what you want and see what he says'

Laura nodded to herself and keyed in her thanks and a brief goodnight, before switching off the phone. Ellen would understand. Tonight wasn't the night for distractions.

* * *

Dinner was good. Surprisingly good actually. He'd even made an onion and balsamic gravy, and the Yorkshire pudding was cooked to perfection. It had been a long time since someone had cooked for her, and quite apart from the deliciousness of the food, there was something extremely touching about his pride at serving it up. This she could certainly get used to. They didn't really talk much, which suited her just fine. They'd elected to eat dinner at the table, but with the tacit agreement that they would move to the sofa and the tv as soon as they were done.

As he watched her tuck into the food with enthusiasm, Robbie felt a warm rush of pride swell in his chest. He honestly couldn't remember the last time that he'd cooked for anyone. There had been a few times that he'd eaten with Hathaway, but there was no way that he'd have risked cooking for the boy. Annoying little bugger that he was, he was also a skilled cook, and it had always seemed stupid to turn down the offer of an excellent dinner in exchange for his paltry fare. And yet. Tonight he realised that it wasn't just the food that was important. It wasn't the food at all really. It was making something for someone else. For Laura.

* * *

Robbie leant his head back against the sofa, and smiled as Laura tucked her chin into the crook of his arm. They'd been curled up here for the past few hours, gradually working their way through a posh box of chocolates that had apparently been a Christmas gift from her team in Oxford. He'd yawned a couple of times, trying not to make it too obvious, but wondering how the evening might progress. Lynne had been right on the money so far, and he had no plans to push Laura towards anything she might regret in the morning. He yawned again and theatrically wiggled his toes , making her laugh,

"Bed?"

She snuggled in closer as she spoke the words, and he ran his fingers over her soft hair,

"Sounds good"

He stretched again, and began to untangle himself, wondering how to proceed. Unlike last night, he wanted her to make her own decision, and so he made it easy,

"Do you want to go in the bathroom first, pet? I can switch things off down here"

* * *

As she reached the top of the stairs, Laura wondered if she was ready to have this conversation with him. In spite of everything, it still seemed a little awkward. For all the benefits of a ten year friendship, there were some catches, and the reality of propositioning your best friend, stone cold sober, had to be the worst. Had she ever actually asked someone if they wanted to sleep with her? She sighed and, grabbed the dressing gown on the back of her door. There had to be an easier way of doing this?

* * *

Robbie gave her ten minutes, and then hauled himself up the stairs. She was still in the bathroom, and he headed into his room to retrieve his pyjamas. But as he sat on the end of the small single bed, he noticed that his holdall wasn't there. For a moment he was confused…and then his brain caught up.

When Laura emerged from the bathroom, and padded back into her room, he was sitting at the end of her bed, his pyjamas folded on his knee, patiently waiting his turn to use the facilities. She smiled shyly, and turned to hang her dressing gown up.

"Um, Laura…"

He nodded towards his bag, tucked against the foot of her bed, his question implicit.

She looked at the bag, and then back at him, and winced a little, wondering if she'd been too obvious,

"Do you mind?"

He looked up at her for a long moment, the faint play of a smile on his lips, and reached out to take her hand,

"Of course not."

She stepped closer, her arm clasping him gently against her chest and he pulled her towards him. His voice was low, rumbling,

"I think I'm too old…"

She squeezed him, her heart sinking a little,

"Don't say that…"

"Hang on, love, let me finish…"

She smiled and stroked his hair, nodding.

"I mean I'm too old to muck around being coy. Getting shot showed me that"

Her fingers paused and hovered over the still tender skin at his collarbone, toying with the collar of his shirt,

"I suppose it does have a way of focusing the mind"

Gently, he pulled her down to perch on his knee, his arm wrapping around her back,

"Especially when you wake up to find the woman you love sleeping next to you, and then she leaves because you don't tell her how you feel"

She looked at him seriously, weighing her words carefully,

"I'm not really sure that I gave you that much of an opportunity"

He smiled, and shook his head,

"No, but I should have told you a long time ago, Laura"

She cupped his face in her hands, and kissed him, tenderly at first, then with more purpose,

"Shall we go to bed?"


End file.
